


An Unexpected Alliance

by MinnieQuill (odainath)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23584858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odainath/pseuds/MinnieQuill
Summary: Minerva McGonagall, the Weasley twins, Peeves, and a common hatred of Dolores Umbridge? Things do not bode well for Hogwarts' High Inquisitor.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	1. The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship

**Author's Note:**

> Author's notes: Whilst the Weasley Twins are inventive; I personally believe that they had a 'push' in a different direction in 'The Order of the Phoenix.' Their pranks certainly became more inventive and more complex. This is my take on what happened.
> 
> This is a re-post. I found a heap of formatting errors in the last one and it was easier to take it down rather than go through each bit individually.

Minerva McGonagall shivered as she made her way toward the staffroom, inwardly cursing the weather. She entered to find Pomona Sprout virtually collapsed in one of the two comfortable armchairs, both feet on the coffee table, whilst her two arms dangled off the armrests giving her an almost ragdoll appearance. Behind her, Poppy Pompfrey leant her elbows against the staff table as she held her head in her hands. Minerva felt a slight pang of sympathy for the school nurse; to teach students was one thing, to be forced to mend their bodies – often because of their own stupidity – was quite another.

"Elegant," she commented sardonically from the doorway, pushing her sympathy to the side. After all, she had a reputation as an ice-cold Professor to uphold. Besides, surely two highly-trained Hogwarts professionals couldn't be dampened by someone like Dolores Umbridge? Yes, the woman was foul beyond belief, by they had got through worse. Gilderoy Lockhart for example. An involuntary shudder ran down Minerva's spine as she thought of the former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Christmas when mistletoe had hung rampant around the school; mistletoe one couldn't escape from unless...

One of Pomona's eyes opened, interrupting Minerva's increasingly morbid memories, and she glared at the Transfigurations Professor who walked calmly to the bench, opened one of the tines, and withdrew a ginger newt. Poppy didn't bother opening her eyes, choosing instead to raise one hand in a brief wave before returning to her former position. Choosing to ignore Poppy's response – or rather, lack thereof – Minerva sat down on the sofa and crossed her legs, eyeing Pomona over-top her glasses.

"Inspection?" Pomona said, covering a yawn with her hand as she sat upright in her chair thus making herself look slightly less like a collapsed drunkard.

"I'm sorry?" Minerva asked, confused, a feeling she was neither familiar nor comfortable with. "You were inspected..." Pomona pressed.

"Oh, yes," Minerva said, waving her hand casually. "What a farce."

The Head of Hufflepuff beamed but faltered at the sound of footsteps and an all-too-familiar simpering voice from down the hall. It was amazing Minerva thought as she watched Poppy and Pomona make themselves look presentable. In less than three seconds their posture was straight, and in five any trace of tiredness had vanished leaving the two women looking fresh and relaxed.

"You know, I could hit her with a trip jinx from here," Poppy said softly, moving from the table to sit next to Pomona. "It's an appealing thought-"

"You'd be sacked before you could say 'Hogwarts'," Minerva interrupted, "and the idea of another Ministry winged monkey taking up residence within these walls is unappealing. So please, desist with that idea immediately."

Rather than be offended by her sharp voice, both women beamed in her direction. It was mildly disconcerting, Minerva thought, watching as their expressions changed to ones of mild curiosity as the door swung open once more, just how _good_ they were hiding their emotions. The temperature seemed to drop as the door closed behind the High Inquisitor, something which was not lost on Umbridge who walked to the table Poppy had just vacated and withdrew two pink envelopes from her handbag.

Finally, after much posturing, Umbridge turned to look the three women, though she quickly looked away. A sense of satisfaction washed over Minerva; it was pleasing to see that their intimidation skills had not wavered. Dolores, if Minerva remembered correctly (which she did) had been frightened of the patented 'McGonagall glare' during her own time as a student at Hogwarts, despite Minerva being three years younger. Though, Minerva reasoned, that _might_ also have been because of the beater's bat she had always kept close to hand that she _might_ have hurled in Umbridge's direction after hearing a particularly vicious insult towards a fellow Gryffindor. A pity she couldn't do the same now...

"Your results, Professors," Dolores said, thrusting the envelopes towards herself and Pomona.

Minerva held the envelope between two fingers, her lips curled in distaste, and didn't spare Umbridge a second glance as she vacated the staffroom. She opened the note with a tap of her wand and caught the results before they fell onto the ground. Across from her, Pomona was two steps ahead, Poppy unashamedly reading over her shoulder, and she watched as the Herbology Professor's expression fell.

"Oh, my," Pomona said softly.

Minerva read her results quickly and looked up, sure that the other woman's expression of mild horror was echoed on her own face.

"Ah," Poppy said, breaking the tension-filled silence.

The Deputy Headmistress didn't say anything, her silence saying everything that was needed.

_-o-_

Shock quickly turned to anger and a mere fifteen minutes later Minerva was tapping her nails irritably against her desk as she glared out the window. Her class - 2nd year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws - were attempting their assigned task with more enthusiasm than was normal, though she did admit that her declaration to ' _demonstrate human transfiguration on the next person who so much as spoke out of turn'_ may have had something to do with their docility. Her eyes narrowed as they focused on Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank's Care of Magical Class which was being held next to the Forbidden Forest. She could see the squat form of Dolores Umbridge from her high vantage point (keen long vision was one of the benefits of being a cat animagus, despite what her spectacles may suggest) and the mere sight of the woman's pink cardigan made her blood boil.

She, Minerva McGonagall, _Minerva McGonagall, a_ generally respected pillar of the wizarding community, was on probation. Probation! She ground her teeth together, eliciting startled glances from the two students in the front row, but her rapacious glare ensured they returned to their snails. She reached out and snatched the piece of pink parchment from her desk. Though she knew the content of the note by heart, she read it again.

_Dear Minerva,_

_As High Inquisitor, I must inform you that you have been placed under probation for an indefinite period of time. Sincerely,_

_The High Inquisitor_

Minerva threw the note back on the desk and folded her arms across her chest. Her gaze fell back to the window. Umbridge was walking back toward the castle and by the way she seemed to bounce as if she had springs in her feet, Minerva knew that Wilhelmina had gone well during her inspection, making it much easier to sack Hagrid now she'd seen a more-than-competent substitute. The bell rang, and there was a mad scramble for the door. Her students jostled with each other, and elbows were used to great effect as they attempted to squeeze through the door simultaneously.

"One moment," Minerva called.

There was an eerie silence as the jostling ceased, and she saw many of the students hunch their shoulders forward as if they expected her to curse them into oblivion.

"Homework. A three-foot essay on changing invertebrates into buttons."

There were none of the usual groans of protest, and they immediately surged forward again at a pace that was nearly a run. Minerva leaned back in her chair. It was quite amusing if she were honest. Her gaze floated back to the note on her desk, and she hissed - another animgaus trait. Her glare must have been intense, for the parchment burst into flames. Minerva didn't bat an eyelid, and the note soon burnt itself out, leaving a small mass of ash on the polished wood.

Minerva waved her wand and the ash disappeared instantly. Her next class of seventh years began to filter in, all looking rather apprehensive, and she knew that the second years had warned them of her mood. They sat down and Minerva cleared her throat.

"We will be starting to conjure live animals today..."

Her voice trailed off as Fred and George Weasley entered the room. Silence fell, but the two didn't seem to notice. "You two!" Minerva barked.

Her words were spoken with such vehemence that her teeth clicked together, and the twins jumped and turned toward her.

"10 points from Gryffindor each. Sit down."

They obeyed instantly, and Minerva allowed herself a brief moment of satisfaction before returning her attention to the rest of the class.

"As I was saying..." She glared at Fred and George who looked suitably contrite. "We will be starting to conjure live animals. By the end of this lesson, I want everyone to have successfully conjured a rat. Twenty points to the person who does it first."

There was a flurry of movement as wands were withdrawn from bags, and the room was soon full of muttered incantations. Minerva rose to her feet and began to roam between the desks, correcting pronunciation and wand movements, when there was a loud _'crack_ ' from behind her. She whirled around to find Fred and George embroiled in a cloud of dark smoke. They were coughing, and she waved her wand to clear the black cloud. Two identical, white rats were sitting on the desks, their conjurers beaming at them. Minerva allowed a small smile to cross over her face and nodded her head.

"Very good, boys. 40 points to Gryffindor."

Their mouths dropped. She had never so much as given them _one_ point before, let alone _forty_ in one hit _._ Minerva turned on her heel and marched back to her desk. Perhaps this day wasn't a complete disaster, she mused as she perused the homework she had taken from her fourth years earlier that morning. They couldn't hold her attention for very long, and she set them aside neatly and looked forward. The class was working smoothly, and there were now six more rats sitting on the desks.

She looked back at Fred and George, and the corners of her mouth tightened. They had vanished their rats and were now absorbed by a piece of parchment they held between them. Minerva flicked her wand and the said parchment flew toward her. The twins' heads jerked upright, and she saw them exchange a look of horror between them, before turning their attentions to her. Their eyes were wide and pleading as Minerva pocketed the parchment, and she gave them a cold look.

The bell rang, and they lingered behind. Minerva pretended to return her attention to her marking as they shuffled forward, looking down at the floor.

"Professor," Fred said softly. "May we have our parchment back, please?"

Minerva looked down at them over the top of her spectacles. "Certainly not," she said crisply. "I will not have you passing notes in class."

"But ..." George interjected.

"No, Mr Weasley. Now leave before I take points from Gryffindor."

The two glared at her and jutted their chins forward. Minerva raised an eyebrow. The fact they thought they could intimidate her was laughable. They recognised that she wasn't to be placated and left the classroom slowly, shooting her a malevolent glare as they left. Minerva withdrew the parchment as soon as their footsteps faded around the corner. She unfolded the paper, and a smile spread across her face as she began to read.

They were becoming more imaginative. She'd grant them that.

_-o-_

Minerva rested her feet on her coffee table and let out a sigh of exhaustion. It was one o'clock in the morning and she was _tired_. The toad woman (Pomona's nickname after the two had met again to grouse over their inspection results) had assigned her another midnight patrol, which she had only just returned from. Minerva's eyes fell on the parchment she had confiscated from the Weasley's and a smile flickered across her face.

If she helped them ...

She shook her head roughly. The idea was preposterous, ridiculous, ludicrous even, but maybe if she just gave them a _push_ in the right direction... There was a loud 'bang' from outside her chambers, and Minerva hissed in annoyance as she leapt to her feet. She marched across the length of her rooms and opened the door, her eyes narrowed as she scanned the halls.

There was definitely someone there. The faint scent of cologne was unmistakable.

She stepped out into the corridor, tying the sash of her dressing gown tightly around her waist. Her tread was light as she padded down the hall, her eyes darting left-and-right as she searched for the reason for the noise. She rounded a corner and had to put a hand over her mouth to stop herself laughing.

Fred Weasley hung by one foot from a crystal chandelier. He glared at her, but the effect was ruined by his situation.

Minerva stepped forward, and with a flick of her wand, Fred was standing upright. She raised an eyebrow in question and he looked down at the floor, his cheeks flaring a scarlet that clashed horribly with his hair.

"George and Lee," he muttered. "I see."

He looked up at her and his eyes widened at the smile she was bestowing on him. "Erm... Professor?" he queried.

She waved her hand, effectively silencing him, and gestured for him to walk alongside her. Fred hesitated for a brief moment but soon fell into step with her long strides. Neither spoke as they walked toward the Gryffindor Tower, though Fred kept looking at her out of the corner of his eye. They passed a stature of Edward the Edwardian Elf when he grabbed her arm and pushed her down.

"Mr Weasley..." she began, struggling to escape from his tight grip.

He shook his head urgently, and she fell silent when she saw the barely restrained panic in his eyes. They were crouched for several more pregnant moments before Fred nodded that it was safe and pulled her to her feet.

"Can you explain...?" she asked softly.

Fred shrugged his shoulders. "Umbridge. She caught George and me last week and..." His voice trailed off, and he shrugged again.

"And?" she pressed. "It's nothing, Professor."

Minerva raised a sceptical eyebrow, but Fred still did not speak. "You do realise," she said eventually, "that because you were with me, she couldn't have punished you?"

Fred's eyes widened and colour flooded to his cheeks. "Sorry, Professor..." he said, running his fingers through his hair. "I

..."

Minerva caught a glimpse of a cut on the back of his hand as his sleeve fell and, though Fred tried to jerk away, she reached out and pulled the material aside.

"That conniving ..." she hissed angrily, her free hand balling into a fist, "I'm going to..."

Engraved on Fred's skin were the words ' _I will not undermine the High Inquisitor.'_ She ground her teeth and allowed Fred's hand to fall to his side. "We're paying Dolores a visit," she spat.

"No!"

Minerva glared up at him (a recent growth spurt meant he now topped her by a couple of inches, though it was doubtful he'd grow any taller) and folded her arms across her chest. "That's blatant abuse, Mr Weasley," she spat angrily. "If you think I'm going to let her..."

Fred reached out and placed a hand over her mouth. "How long do you think it will be before she writes a decree saying anyone that opposes her will be sacked?" he said urgently, not moving his hand. "We can't afford to lose _you."_

Minerva batted his hand away, but she took his words to heart. "Fine, Mr Weasley," she said finally, "we may not be able to get rid of her, but we _can_ make her life hell."

Fred looked mildly apprehensive as she gestured for him to follow her, but when he saw the impatient look on her face, he soon hurried to her side.

"Where are we going?" he asked after several prolonged minutes of silence.

In answer, Minerva drew to a halt and opened the hidden door that led to her office and ushered Fred inside. He looked around apprehensively as she directed him to one of the chairs.

"Sit."

He did so and waited until she had sat opposite him before speaking. "Professor, can I ask what is going on?" Minerva didn't answer for a few moments and when she did, she spoke slowly and deliberately.

"Dolores Umbridge is, as you know, a person that no one wants at Hogwarts. Therefore, I have no … qualms if you were to … increase the amount of catastrophe you and your twin cause."

Fred's eyes widened and he appeared momentarily rendered mute as he looked at her. Minerva cleared her throat, finding herself flustered.

"Well, thank you, Professor," Fred said eventually, rising to his feet. "I'll certainly pass the message on to George."

Minerva nodded as she stood and crossed the room to the office door. Fred was about to move past her when she spoke again.

"The fireworks," she said softly. "Imagine how much more effective they'd be if every time someone hit them with a vanishing charm they multiplied by ten."

Fred looked at her and a smile slowly crossed his face. "You may have something there, Professor," he said, giving her a look that spoke 'mischief.' "And stunning charms?"

"I'd say that was up to you, Mr Weasley," Minerva said, opening the door and ushering him out of her office.

The red-head agreed with a sharp nod of his head and stepped out into the corridor, Minerva close behind. He glanced at her in surprise as she fell into stride with him.

"Er, Professor?" he queried.

"I'll walk you to the Common Room," Minerva answered as they rounded a corner. "There's no need …"

Minerva raised an eyebrow and he fell silent. "If Dolores has taken a liking to mutilate my students, then I think I have a duty to ensure that she has as little chance as possible of being able to do just that, don't you?"

Fred conceded her point as they drew to a halt outside the portrait of the Fat Lady who looked from him to Minerva and back again before sighing wearily.

"Password?" she asked. "Devil's Snare," Fred answered.

The portrait swung open, but Fred hesitated before he stepped inside. "Thank you," he said finally, looking her in the eye. "For … uh ..." His voice trailed off, but Minerva nodded her head to show she understood the unfinished sentence.

"Goodnight, Mr Weasley," Minerva said, stepping back.

Fred gave one last grin before the portrait swung shut behind him and Minerva turned slowly and walked through the corridors, not to her office but her chambers. Godric Gryffindor, her chamber guardian, looked at her sympathetically as she approached.

"It's one-thirty in the morning," he said. "And you have to be up …"

"At six, I know," Minerva said, waving a hand so the portrait swung open. "Don't remind me."

Godric shrugged his shoulders and the portrait closed, throwing the small hallway into darkness. Minerva flicked her wand, lighting various candelabras so she could see well enough to reach her living room where she flung herself onto the sofa and stared at the ceiling. She could well imagine the glee that Dolores felt as she watched a student, any student, writing lines using their blood instead of ink. She knew that those she chose to punish would try not to let anything that indicated they were in pain show and she pictured them biting the inside of their cheeks, clenching the fist of the other hand, anything to stop sound spilling from their lips.

"Bloody hell," she whispered.

She sat upright and bent forward, pulling her boots from her feet and flinging them into the corner. She curled her toes and sat her feet on the coffee table, conjuring a mug of hot chocolate which she sipped slowly. The fire was lit with a flick of her wand and she sank deeper into the sofa, merely looking at the flames as her thoughts ran like a roller coaster through her mind; Dolores Umbridge, blood quills, the Ministry, Voldemort and, Harry Potter who would undoubtedly have received the same punishment as Fred. She faltered; of course, it all came back to Harry Potter. The 'boy-who-lived', though she was sure the boy in Potter had died long ago. Sighing, she placed her now-empty mug on the coffee table and swivelled around, her legs now stretched out before her on the sofa. Reaching up, she pulled down the tartan blanket that resided on the back of the sofa and spread it across herself, finally allowing her head to rest against the cushion and her eyes to close.

_-o-_

Minerva groaned as the alarm went off, muttering a charm to give her an extra ten minutes. She rolled onto her front and buried her face into the pillow, not moving until the alarm sounded again. Swearing slightly beneath her breath she reluctantly pulled the covers away and swung her legs over the edge of the sofa. She stayed there for several moments, resting her elbows against her knees, head cupped in her hands before the alarm sounded yet again. She staggered to her feet, picking up her wand, and with a sharp _'flick_ ' the alarm had shattered into small pieces, spilling over the floor.

Now reasonably awake she moved through her bedroom, the kink her neck reminding her that it was a far better sleeping spot than the sofa, and crossed into the adjoining bathroom. It was only when she had shed her clothes that she remembered the night before and she paused as she reached for the tap.

Fred Weasley, Dolores Umbridge and … _what_ had she agreed to exactly?

"Oh, god," she muttered, leaning against the frame of the shower and looking down at the tiles. What on earth had she been thinking? Surely she must have been delirious and it was all a dream? A bizarre dream, but a dream nevertheless. Nodding to assure herself she turned the tap and stepped underneath the jetting hot water. Her muscles relaxed and she looked upward, drops pounding against her face. With the water came her memory and she faltered as she reached for the bar of soap. No, Fred had been in her chambers and she was helping him, but why?

The image of a recently healed cut, still redraw, surged forward and her fingers curled into a fist causing the soap to fall to the floor.

Dolores Umbridge. A blood quill. One of her Gryffindors.

The woman was lucky the Minerva hadn't sought her out and blown her into next Tuesday.

She shook herself thereby returning to the present and turned the tap off. She stepped from the shower and wrapped a towel firmly around her waist. Her long, black hair was restrained by another towel and she walked back into her room and summoned her teaching robes from the wardrobe in the corner. She dried her hair with a flick of her wand and began the lengthy process of restraining the long tresses into its customary tight bun. Finally, the last hairpin was in place and she slipped into her robes; summoning her boots which she had kicked off in the living room and pulling them onto her feet.

A fluent stream of curses flew from her mouth as she glanced at her watch and discovered she was running late; a rare occurrence indeed. She marched through her chambers and wrenched the door open, stirring Godric who glanced at her briefly before closing his eyes and going back to sleep. Her heeled boots clicked against the stone floors as she hurried through the corridors and students looked at her in alarm as she approached; often turning and hurrying in the direction they had come. Finally, she reached the staff table and Albus looked upward and gave her a wary glance. She sat next to him and pulled a plate of porridge toward her, dousing it liberally in sugar and milk, much to Rolanda Hooch's disgust. The Flying Instructor opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by a sickly sound Minerva was becoming more familiar with than she liked.

" _Hem, hem."_

Minerva closed her eyes and tried to ignore the stout woman who was standing at her shoulder but they snapped open again almost immediately.

" _Hem, hem."_

She looked to her left and raised an eyebrow at the High Inquisitor. "Can I help you, Dolores?" she asked, her hand curling around her spoon.

"I was just wondering if you'd read your inspection results?" Dolores asked, a simpering yet cruel smile playing at her lips.

"Oh, yes," Minerva answered in a syrupy voice that made the other members of staff do a double-take. "It made _such_ interesting reading."

Pomona tried to suppress a snort but failed and Umbridge turned toward her, fixing the Herbology Professor with a glare.

"Did yours also make 'interesting reading'?" she demanded, jutting her chin forward.

Minerva's long-time friend glanced over Dolores's shoulder and winked, before turning her attention back to the shorter woman.

"No, I'm afraid not," Pomona answered. "Then again, Minerva and I have always had different tastes in reading material."

By now all members of staff (including if she wasn't mistaken, Severus who was amused by next-to-nothing) were trying to hide smiles behind their hands and Umbridge sniffed and looked forward, turning her attention to her breakfast, knowing that particular verbal battle was lost. Minerva nodded to herself. So long as Dolores Umbridge never got the upper-hand, which in Minerva or Pomona's presence was highly unlikely, then there would always be a way to bring her back down to earth, preferably in a fashion reminiscent of a meteor smashing into the ground.

_-o-_

_Knock, knock._

Minerva glanced up from her desk to find both Fred and George Weasley looking at her from the doorway; the former grinned at her, while the other looked mildly frightened. Not surprising really; she wasn't known for her high tolerance level of miscreants. Minerva leaned back in her chair and placed the quill she had been using to scribe the latest letter to the Ministry down and beckoned for them to come in. The red-heads bounded into her office and sat down when she pointed them toward the chairs opposite.

"Professor," Fred began, not bothering with such things as a greeting, "the only way that we could charm the fireworks to multiply by ten when hit with a certain array of spells is to use an 'infragilis' potion …" His sentence trailed off into mid-air, much to Minerva's surprise.

She nodded. "Yes, that sounds correct."

"Well, some of the ingredients are fairly lucrative …"

The Head of Gryffindor bit her lip as she read through the oblique lines that Fred was painting. She could not believe she was contemplating this; no, she wasn't going to allow this; it was simply ridiculous; she was not going to do this; she simply _couldn't_ do this; no, she was not going to do this; and yet...

"And you need to raid Professor Snape's private stores?" she said, ignoring the continuing reprimands in her mind. Fred nodded, looking somewhat apprehensive. "Yeah... pretty much."

Minerva sighed and tapped her fingers against the desk, briefly assessing various options, before making a decision.

"All right," she said, holding her hands together and resting them atop her desk. "You need to get into Filch's office. Professor Snape has put a password on the door to his private stores, which Filch keeps in the top-right drawer of the filing cabinet closest to the door. Get the ingredients and then..."

"We've got a place to make the potion," Fred said hurriedly, "so don't worry about that, we just needed to know how to get into Snape's private stores."

"All right, that's settled-"

George cleared his throat (thankfully not a _hem hem_ ) thereby interrupting her, and she raised her eyebrows in question.

"There was one thing Fred didn't tell me, Professor," he said, his brown eyes boring into her grey. " _Why_ are you helping us?"

Minerva eyed him for a moment; George Weasley was certainly a Gryffindor, next-to-no student would ever presume to question her, especially with such brashness. George didn't bat an eyelid as she deliberated her answer.

"Dolores Umbridge stands for a government I have no faith in _,"_ she said, leaning back in her chair. "Her utter incompetence grates on my nerves and..." her voice trailed off as she sought for the right words. "… and I have never been one to suffer fools lightly," she said eventually. "And, I'm sure you'll agree, I have yet to meet a fool quite like Dolores Umbridge."

George eyed her shrewdly, before giving a sharp nod. "Makes sense."

"I'm glad you think so, Weasley," Minerva said brusquely, reaching for quill again, the dismissal clear. "And boys?" she added as they got to his feet and crossed the length of her office.

"Yes, Professor?" they asked simultaneously. "This conversation never happened."

They both grinned. "What conversation?"

* * *

_**Please review!** _


	2. A Plan Unveiled

Minerva's hand turned off the alarm as soon as it started and the Head of Gryffindor remained sitting in the middle of her bed in the same position she had been for the past half-hour. It was Saturday and yet despite the opportunity to sleep in, her body had decided that it wanted to be awake at the crude hour of five-thirty and thus she'd found herself wide awake yet not willing to leave the warmth of her bed. Sighing, she decided to move and swung her legs across, leaping to her feet in a manner only achievable by those light of foot.

She walked to the bathroom where a splash of water over her face worked its wonders before walking to the kitchenette and making herself a cup of tea. Though she knew she had to merely flick her wand to conjure a cup of tea, she found that it didn't taste nearly as good and thus she found herself pouring boiling water into the teapot and waiting for the tea to brew.

The Deputy Headmistress sighed and folded her arms across her chest, peering out the window over the quidditch field which was currently covered by a light fog. To think it was only mid-September … it felt like so much later in the semester. She rubbed the bare skin of her arms - she wore a camisole rather than full-length sleeves, finding it far more comfortable - and looked from the window. Deeming the tea to be sufficiently brewed she opened the cupboard and withdrew a cup, quickly adding lemon juice and honey. She walked to the sofa and sat down but a 'tap' on the window had her on her feet again almost immediately and she let in the two postal owls, one which carried a brown envelope whilst the other thrust its foot, which held a copy of the 'Daily Prophet', towards her. She gave them the obligatory owl treats and they flew off toward the owlery, leaving Minerva alone. She threw the Prophet onto the coffee table, choosing to tear open the letter which was written on the same dreary paper as the envelope.

Nymphadora Tonks' writing was instantly recognisable and the young Auror's letter was short and succinct.

_Professor McGonagall,_

_Dumbledore needs to go away for a few days. He asks you to make his excuses to the necessary people. Yours,_

_TONKS._

The Deputy Headmistress rolled her eyes and threw the letter on the coffee table to join the Prophet; just what the school needed. An absent Headmaster. Minerva knew she was more-than-competent at her and - if she was honest - Albus' job, but Dumbledore simply exuded a far more comforting aura than she. Both strong and yet approachable, students simply preferred to talk to him rather than her. There were exceptions of course; both Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley and, in the Marauder's time, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin chose her as their confidante, but they were few and far between.

She stretched her back and placed her now-empty mug on the table where she would clean it later. Feeling more alert, she crossed to her bedroom where she changed into robes and pulled her hair back into its customary bun. Glancing about her chambers, she finally found her boots (she had begun kicking them into more-and-more unusual places – only last week did she find them in opposite corners of the room) and slipped them onto her feet before heading for the door.

Godric shook his head at her. "You should have a lie-in," he said.

Minerva rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips, waiting for him to open up. Finally, he did - after lecturing her of the benefits of a good night's sleep and urging her to try a muggle exercise regime called 'yoga' which purported to promote blood circulation which in turn allowed the body to relax – and she walked quickly toward the Great Hall. If she were lucky she would be able to eat breakfast, retrieve her marking from her classroom and retire to her chambers where she would catch up on some well-deserved sleep. With that happy thought in mind, Minerva rounded the corner and glanced up at the staff table.

It was free save for one person: Severus Snape.

The Slytherin Head and herself were not particularly good friends, but they were _old_ friends, and over the years the two terms had melded together until they were scarcely indistinguishable. Minerva continued forth, and Severus pushed a cup of coffee toward her which she took with a grateful smile. She glanced at her Slytherin counterpart and suppressed a sigh. He looked so _tired_ , so _withdrawn_.

Minerva was one of the few who knew of his work for the Order, or rather, she was one of the few who knew of his _true_ work with the Order and - judging by his physical condition - he was in severe danger of succumbing to its incubus. His skin was cadaverous in the candlelight, and his eyes which usually darted about, usually searching for misbehaving students (more often than not Gryffindors,) were dull and shrouded. The only colour in his face was the charcoal smudges under his eyes, and he looked, for the first time she had known him, tired.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly, though she knew he would not answer her honestly.

He shot her a venomous glare to which she raised an eyebrow. "I'm fi..." he began, though his words became weighed down by uncertainty and he looked down and stared fixedly at the table.

"That good, then?" Minerva said, resting her hand briefly on his shoulder.

Severus nodded glumly as he sipped his own coffee; black, no sugar, like herself. Minerva found herself at a loss of words to say, and ate her toast, more for something to do rather than to satiate hunger. The comfortable silence between them was shattered by their next breakfast arrival.

" _Hem, hem."_

Severus closed his eyes and winced slightly, though only she who, as the students would say, 'was the most observant of staff' noticed this.

"Good morning, Dolores," Minerva said through gritted teeth, flicking her wand and refilling both her and Severus' coffees.

"Is it, Professor McGonagall?" Umbridge said coldly.

Surprised, Minerva turned to find the High Inquisitor glaring at her. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself laughing. The look may have worked on Minerva's harder and more striking features, but on Dolores' flabby face, it just looked ridiculous.

"I rather thought so," Minerva said airily. "Hmph!"

Minerva glanced at Severus who looked equally oblivious to the cause of Dolores' woes. The woman in question was adding what looked to be half a cup of sugar to her decaffeinated coffee (sacrilegious in Minerva's mind – what was the _point_ of coffee without caffeine?) and did not appear to be elaborating any time soon. Minerva shrugged and turned to Severus with the idea to engage him in conversation.

"How are the Weasley twins, Minerva?"

Dolores' voice was smug, and Minerva felt a slight wave of dread flood through her veins. "The Weasley twins?" she asked, turning to Umbridge.

Years of masking her emotions ensured that her expression did not falter as she looked into the muddy-brown eyes of her nemesis, but nevertheless, the predatory gleam in the other woman's eye was thoroughly disconcerting. Indeed, if she hadn't survived two wars or wasn't the current Order's strategist, she may even have been mildly frightened.

_But_ , she _had_ survived two wars and _was_ the Order's strategist, so instead of feeling frightened, she was merely...apprehensive.

"The Weasley twins?" Minerva repeated, feigning innocence. "I imagine this early in the morning that they are still in bed."

Umbridge glowered up at her. "Well, Minerva. I regret to inform you that they are _not_ in bed; rather they were seen coming down from the Owlery carrying a rather large package no less than twenty minutes ago."

Minerva blinked her eyes slowly. "The Owlery, Dolores?" she said eventually. Umbridge nodded sanctimoniously.

"Did you not think they may have simply been retrieving a package from home?" Minerva continued, injecting a small amount of sarcasm into her voice.

Blood rushed to Dolores' face. "They are the _Weasley twins,_ " she hissed, her voice lowering to a growl. "It would not have been a simple package from home!"

Minerva shrugged as she reached for a piece of toast. "I see no evidence to the contrary, Dolores," she said as she nibbled the corner. "I cannot punish my students based on suppositions, and not a concrete fact."

Umbridge looked to swell in her seat, making her resemblance to a giant toad even more uncanny. "Are you refusing to help me, Professor McGonagall?" she asked, her voice low and deadly.

Minerva glared down at her. "No," she answered coldly. "I am informing you that I cannot, and will not, be sanctioning punishments when there is no evidence behind the accusations."

She calmly continued to eat her toast, well aware that Umbridge's mouth was opening and closing in a parody of speech as she sought for words to retort Minerva's statement.

"I... you... I think another review is in order, Professor McGonagall!" she spluttered eventually. "You are clearly slipping!"

Minerva shrugged one shoulder carelessly. "You will find my record exemplary, Dolores," she said calmly, though she inwardly bristled. "I believe that less than five percent of students have failed Transfiguration since I took the position almost 39 years ago."

Umbridge glared at her but said nothing as Minerva drained the last of her coffee, and rose to her feet. "Now, if there was nothing else," she said as she pushed her chair under the table. "I have such things to do as my _job._ "

She turned smartly on her heel and marched away leaving behind a fuming High Inquisitor and a mildly amused Potions Master.

_-o-_

Students had begun to rise, and Minerva walked through small groups who were on their way to breakfast on the way to her classroom. They looked suitably rested, much like those who did not suffer from some odd form of insomnia and she waved her wand with a great deal more force than was necessary. As a consequence, the door to her classroom rebounded off the wall with such force that it very nearly collided with her nose and she pushed it open (gently this time) and looked about the high-ceilinged room. It was as ordered as she had left it the night previously, and it was the work of moments to retrieve her 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 5th and 7th year marking from the top right-hand drawer (magically enlarged to fit everything.) She grabbed extra quills and ink for good measure and left the classroom just as quickly as she had entered.

Her heels echoed loudly in the resonant hall as she walked at a slightly unnatural pace, simply wanting to get into her chambers and use the weekend for what it was meant for: to relax. She passed the corridor leading toward Umbridge's chambers and faltered when she saw two figures holding a thin piece of rope, which they then tied to the legs of two suits of armour standing opposite each other making a crude, but nevertheless effective, trip-wire. Minerva stepped into the shadows, eager to see who the culprits were. Euan Abercrombie, one of her own Gryffindors, looked about and she supposed she must have made some sort of small noise.

"Quick," he hissed to his partner-in-crime, a first-year Hufflepuff called Rose Zeller. "We need to get a move on."

The girl nodded and two seconds later had twisted the final knot. Giggling, the two hurried back down the hallway, away from the scene of their crime, and Minerva stepped out of the shadows, unable to hold back a grin. One of her Gryffindors, a first-year no less, already helping to make Umbridge's life as hellish as possible. And it was clever as well; as first-years their magic wasn't advanced enough to do a huge degree of damage, but simple things such as a trip wire...

Genius; especially combined with the fact that tripping over said wire would send two suits of armour falling directly onto the unfortunate person who, as the castle's population avoided Umbridge's quarters like the plague, would most inevitably be the High Inquisitor.

Yes, she had a sneaking suspicion of who exactly would be the Weasley twins' future successors.

Marginally more cheerful, Minerva quickly placed a Strengthening Charm on the knots, ensuring they would not come loose, and continued towards her chambers. Godric spouted the benefits of yoga once again as she drew to a halt and only opened when she reached into her pocket and raised her wand, making it very clear that she had no hesitation in blasting his portrait from the wall. Now muttering about impatient Scots, the portrait obeyed and Minerva breathed a heavy sigh as she entered.

She levitated the pile of parchment to her writing desk underneath the window overlooking the Forbidden Forest and pulled the first essay toward her. The writing was barely legible, but she deciphered the title ('Explain, with examples, the differences between self-transfiguration and animagus transformations') and pushed her glasses firmly further up her nose.

If all the essays were in this state then she would be here for far longer than she anticipated.

_-o-_

Four hours passed in a blur and it was only by chance that Minerva glanced at her watch and swore beneath her breath as she realised she had to be out-of-the-castle in five minutes. The pile of marking had decreased significantly - though unfortunately not quite finished - and she placed a paper-weight atop the parchment as she rose to her feet and rushed to her bedroom, changing her wizarding robes in favour of a muggle blouse and skirt, before dashing back out and throwing on her overcoat. Godric whistled as she approached and received a sharp elbow to the ribs from Helga Hufflepuff who was visiting her fellow Founder along with Rowena Ravenclaw who watched on in amusement.

Minerva paid no attention to any of this and broke into a semi-jog as she hurried through the corridors, tying the sash around her waist. It was two o'clock in the afternoon and most students were either outside or in their common room so she met no one until she reached the Entrance Hall where Ernie MacMillian and Hannah Abbot looked at her as if she were an alien beamed from space. Inwardly rolling her eyes, Minerva forged onward to the gravel driveway where she broke into a real jog. She reached the gates soon enough and apparated as soon as she was able, reappearing in the dingy muggle street where the Noble House of Black and thus one Sirius Black resided.

She sighed as she side-stepped a puddle and ascended the stairs that led to Grimmauld Place. Thinking the address, she quickly knocked and waited impatiently for someone to answer. The door swung open to reveal Remus Lupin who kissed her on the cheek as he let her inside. She hung her coat up as Remus led her into the living room where Sirius, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks sat.

Tonks grinned at her. "Did you get my letter, McG?" she asked.

Minerva nodded as she sat down and crossed her legs, looking at each of them in turn. Every Saturday members of the Order met at Grimmauld to exchange information or simply to 'catch up.'

"Nothing to report from me," Kingsley began in his deep and somewhat soothing voice. "It's been quiet."

Tonks cleared her throat and ran a hand through her hot pink hair. "Not much for me to tell, either," she said. "The usual; Fudge has got most of us looking for Sirius though a few have been assigned to him personally as he feels his life could be in potential danger."

Minerva snorted and rolled her eyes. Remus grinned at her before speaking. "Most of the werewolves are going over to Voldemort's side. He can offer them fresh meat; we can't. What about you, McGonagall?"

The Head of Gryffindor shrugged. "Dolores Umbridge has taken a liking to using blood quills as a punishment," she said flatly. "A practice I am going to soon … nullify."

Sirius leant forward over the table and she involuntarily flinched back at the sudden movement. "She can't do that!" he said angrily. "That's torture plain and simple!"

"Nothing is 'simple', Sirius," Minerva snapped.

The animagus opened his mouth to retort but Remus coughed loudly, preventing any further argument. "Let's have some tea," he said calmly, looking from Minerva to Sirius.

Minerva nodded and allowed Tonks and Kingsley to go before her as they went into the kitchen which boasted a small table (well, relatively small in comparison to the other table in the dining room; it was still an eight-seat table) and they all sat down as Remus made tea and placed a tray of biscuits before them. Minerva took one, to be polite more than anything else, and there was an uncomfortable silence which Remus broke as he handed each of them a mug.

"What's on the agenda this week?" he asked, looking around the table. "Nothing, as per usual," Sirius said resentfully, taking a chunk out of his biscuit.

"I'm going to have to wait-and-see what this woman has in mind," Minerva said, ignoring the younger man. "There isn't much else I can do."

"So, _you're_ doing nothing as well," Sirius said snidely. "Good to see."

Minerva glared at him across the table, her eyes flashing. "Do not speak of what you don't understand," she said eventually in a voice of forced calm.

"What is there to understand …?" Sirius spat back almost immediately. "That's enough!"

Remus' voice cut through Sirius' and the two glared at each other before Sirius rose and slouched out of the kitchen, presumably to his room. The werewolf turned to Minerva and looked at her pointedly. She didn't bat an eyelid and after a few moments, Remus sighed and turned to Tonks who wore a completely befuddled expression. Remus engaged both the young Auror and Kingsley in conversation, but Minerva paid little attention, her thoughts flying back to Hogwarts, as they often did. She closed her eyes and felt her back curve slightly as the combination of tiredness and responsibility weighted briefly on her shoulders before shaking herself thoroughly, dismissing her moment of self-pity almost as quickly as it had come.

"I need to go," she said, draining her tea and placing it back on the table. "I don't suppose Albus had communicated anything to the Order?"

All three shook their heads and Minerva rose to her feet, Shacklebolt echoing her movements. The tall man smiled down at her (he topped her by six-or-so inches) and waved for her to go ahead of him. She did so, and after bidding Tonks and Remus goodbye - the latter was somewhat cold toward her, a fact she put to the back of her mind - the two headed to the hall. Kingsley held her jacket out for her and then put on his own. He looked far different in muggle clothing; the more tailored garments high-lighted a brawn that was hidden by voluminous wizarding robes. She brought herself back to the present and walked down the hall, Shacklebolt close behind.

"Are you going back to Hogwarts?" he asked as she opened the door. "Yes," Minerva replied.

The door closed and Kingsley reached out and took hold of her upper arm. "I need to speak with you, Professor," he said softly. "But this must go no further. I did not want to say anything in front of Remus or Tonks."

Minerva nodded and Shacklebolt led her down the street. Muggle beggars leered at them but one look from Kingsley stopped even the most sinister-looking of them and they arrived at a small café without incident.

"It is a message from Dumbledore," the Auror said after they had given their order to the waiter. "He said to tell you he was sorry he couldn't give it in person, but he was called to Cambridge."

The Head of Gryffindor nodded as their coffees were placed in front of them before she leant forward. "Why on earth is he there?"

Kingsley shrugged his broad shoulders. "I cannot tell you." "Cannot or will not?" Minerva said sharply.

The Auror shook his head slowly. "Cannot," he answered. "Dumbledore believes that Voldemort is now recruiting the vampires, which as you can imagine could be potentially devastating to the Light."

"Granted," Minerva conceded. "So, is he going to meet with any of the leaders?"

Kingsley nodded. "I believe that is what he is preparing to do," he answered. "He also wants you to know that Dolores Umbridge is far more sinister than was first thought. Her obsession with wizarding superiority; it is far and beyond even the Malfoy's."

"Oh," Minerva said. "How is this-?"

"She is writing laws that need only the signature of the Minister to make them enforceable. I am not sure of their exact wording, but based on this information from Dumbledore …"

"It can't be good," Minerva finished. "Well, thank you, Kingsley," she said, fishing for the muggle money she always carried in case of situations like these. "Thank you, very much."

Kingsley shook his head as they walked out of the small café. "Not at all, Professor McGonagall."

He bowed his head toward her, a gesture not seen often in this day-and-age, before striding down the street. Minerva watched him until he disappeared around a corner before she slipped into a small strip next to the café and apparated back to Hogwarts.

_-o-_

Minerva's chambers were empty and blissfully silent as she entered, hanging up her overcoat and walking to the kitchenette where she leant heavily against the bench. Her eyes felt leaden and her body sluggish as she made a cup of tea which she took to her favourite armchair and sipped as she looked out the window. The air was chill and she lit the fire with a flick of her wand as she watched the Ravenclaw quidditch team practice. Cho Chang was playing terribly and her heart went out to the girl as she failed to catch the quaffle, the red ball flying straight through her outstretched hands.

She could not imagine what the girl could be feeling at the moment. Cedric Diggory had certainly been smitten with her and for him to then be killed … and so callously. She sank deeper into the chair, curling her legs toward herself and resting her head against the back of the chair. And to think the wizarding world was in such denial; just what Voldemort needed to gather forces. Whilst the Ministry spent so much time convincing people he had _not_ returned, he was free to perfect his plans, giving him the upper-hand. Yes, there was the Order of the Phoenix, but the Order was small, and Voldemort's army would be huge. Some, of course, could not care less about the so-called 'purity' of blood but relished the freedom the Dark Arts offered. The Light Side was so structured in its definitions of right and wrong; the Dark Side in comparison held no such boundaries for the line was flexible.

Minerva sighed and drained the rest of her cup, scalding the tip of her tongue. Though barely dusk, she was unbelievably tired and she rose and walked slowly to her bedroom. She showered quickly and changed into her usual night-time attire of a nightgown that reached mid-thigh. It may not have been what her students expected; indeed she imagined that they would presume her to wear the old-style nighties which were ankle length. However, over the years, Minerva had found that shorter nightgowns were far easier to run in, as she had been forced to on more than one occasion during her tenure at Hogwarts.

" _Ahh!"_

Speaking of which...

Concerned at the sheer volume of the highly-girlish squeals, Minerva threw on her dressing gown and bolted from her chambers towards the source of the noise, though soon slowed to a walk.

"Oh, this is too priceless..."

Minerva looked in the direction of the voice, but saw nothing, and pushed the observation to the back of her mind. She must have been imagining things; it happened, especially to those who'd had little sleep. Nodding, to assure herself, she transformed into her animagus form and trotted around the corner, tail held high in the air. Abercrombie and Zeller's trip-wire had been extremely effective, she mused, as she saw the short legs of Dolores Umbridge sticking out from beneath two crumpled suits of armour. Dolores' wand, it seemed, had fallen at some point and Minerva could see it in on the floor some six foot away from Umbridge's out-stretched hand.

She really should help the woman, Minerva knew that, but it was so satisfying to see Umbridge get a taste of her own medicine and she wanted to savour the moment.

"Shouldn't you be helping, Professor McGonagall?" a familiar person whispered.

Minerva stiffened at the sound of Fred Weasley's voice and she turned and glared at him, though knew the effect was much less potent in her animagus form, yet she could hardly transform right here, thereby alerting Umbridge to the fact she had done nothing more than gloat for the past three minutes. Scowling, Minerva stalked back down the corridor and rounded the corner where she returned to her human state.

And promptly wished she hadn't.

"You were just going to point and laugh, weren't you?" George Weasley said, grinning.

Minerva straightened to her full height. "Don't be ridiculous, Weasley," she snapped, "it's rude to point."

Perhaps the retort itself was bizarre enough to garner a moment's pause, or perhaps it just the fact that such a sentence had been spoken from the Head of Gryffindor, but George Weasley's mouth fell open and he simply stared at Minerva for a moment.

"Moving on," Fred said, ignoring Minerva's weak response. "Something-"

He was cut off by another high-pitched scream that echoed through the halls. With a small eye-roll, Minerva turned so she was facing away from Umbridge, and folded her arms across her chest.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Weasley," she barked. "Now, I suggest you head to Gryffindor Tower before you're blamed for this... fiasco."

Fred straightened, having evidently not considered this potentially large problem.

"Though who _is_ responsible for this 'fiasco' as you call it, Professor?" George asked, apparently seeing through her face which she had schooled into a picture of innocence.

"Let's just say that you should take Euan Abercrombie on as an apprentice," Minerva said succinctly. "Now, do hurry along."

Grinning, the twins turned heel and scampered away as fast as they were able.

_-o-_

Dolores looked thoroughly dishevelled by the time Minerva deigned to assist her, and it was with a mere flick of her wand that the suits of armour righted themselves, leaving room for Umbridge to scramble to her feet. Minerva said nothing, enjoying the woman's stuttered exclamations that Minerva's help with not needed, though that was not to say it wasn't appreciated, just so long as Minerva recognised that it was not _necessary..._

Minerva sighed; this was all thoroughly boring.

"When I found out who did this," Umbridge was saying when Minerva turned back into the conversation. "I will ensure they are expelled..."

"I believe that right resides with the Headmaster, Dolores," Minerva interrupted sharply.

She knew she shouldn't say anything, but the woman was infuriatingly superior and for her to speak about disciplinary matters she had to authority or right over... it made Minerva's blood boil to say the least. Umbridge flinched but regained her composure sure enough, and her lip curled as she looked Minerva up-and-down in what the Head of Gryffindor supposed she thought was an intimidating way. Needless to say, the only thing that Minerva felt was irritation.

"There may well be a new Headmaster soon, Minerva," the other woman hissed.

The Head of Gryffindor reared to her full height, almost a full foot taller than Dolores, and glowered downward. "Are you alluding toward something specific, Dolores?" she asked, her teeth clenched.

"Perhaps."

There it was, that infuriatingly smug look that made Minerva want to curse the woman into next year or, failing that, simply deliver a solid right-hand hook.

"If that's everything, Dolores," Minerva said, choosing not to rise to the bait, "then I would dearly love to go to bed." Without waiting for a response, Minerva spun on her heel and sauntered down the hallway and around the corner.

_-o-_

Exhaustion that so often nipped at her heels seemed to wash over her the instant Minerva passed the threshold of her chambers, and she all-but-floated into her bedroom. The fire was lit, flames blazing away merrily, and Minerva slid her dressing gown over her shoulders and threw it unceremoniously over one of the bedposts where it could easily be grabbed should she be summoned out of bed during the night for some other sort of disaster.

Slowly, she slipped beneath the covers, drawing them up to her chin, and let herself relax. She let out a groan a moment later; today was Saturday, which meant that tomorrow was Sunday, which meant that her weekend was soon to be over. Minerva glared at the back of her eyelids, and her glare intensified as raucous noise played from above; apparently the Gryffindors were being particularly boisterous. Reaching out blindly for her wand, she cast a Silencing Charm. Now smiling, she rolled onto her side and curled her legs.

Whoever invented the Silencing Charm deserved an Order of Merlin.

_-o-_


	3. Peeves' Participation

The Head of Gryffindor woke the following day from a restless sleep, feeling more exhausted than she had in years. The alarm was ringing incessantly and she reached across the bed and turned it off; her body protested at that small movement and she lay still for several minutes, seriously contemplating cancelling her first class. Knowing that was impossible - and really rather a stupid idea - she grudgingly rose and assumed her dressing gown. From there, the routine of her morning toilette gave her time to lift herself from her state of relative catatonia.

Tea – that was what she needed.

She strode down the halls of Hogwarts, her brisk pace warming her body and she felt slightly more human as she sat to the right of Albus's empty chair. Students entered, looking as she felt, most yawning and slouching at the table. Severus glanced up as she sat down. If Minerva thought she looked dreadful, then she had nothing on the Head of Slytherin who looked almost skeletal.

_Like_ _death warmed up._

"Morning," he said, pushing the teapot towards her.

"Morning," she echoed as he returned to his breakfast (rather more than normal – thank Merlin.)

The Head of Gryffindor poured herself a cup of tea and the first sip was like a hot bath after a long, hard quidditch match. She didn't look around as she heard the ' _clip_ ' of shoes against the stone floor and she was taken by surprise when one Albus Dumbledore sat beside her.

"Albus!"

"Hello, Minerva," her superior returned with a smile and trademark twinkle. "Have you been well?" She nodded impatiently. "Yes, yes," she said dismissively. "Now, I want to know where you've …"

Minerva fell silent at an admonishing glance from the white-haired wizard and a moment later she understood why. " _Hem, hem._ How lovely to see you back, Dumbledore."

The Head of Gryffindor's back was toward Umbridge, for which she was grateful, as her hand had literally twitched toward her wand. Thankfully, the gesture was unnoticed by the High Inquisitor (though was by Severus who was now smiling faintly) and Minerva looked forward and at her food, not trusting herself to speak.

"It is lovely to be back, Dolores," Albus said pleasantly.

Minerva rolled her eyes as the Headmaster and High Inquisitor engaged in a faux bright and cheery conversation, punctuated by girlish giggles (again, the hand twitched …) Finally, to Minerva's delight, the bell rang and Albus rose the same time as she, touching her elbow.

"I have to leave again, tonight," he said softly, his voice hidden by the noises of hundreds of chairs creaking and walking feet. "Just so you're aware."

His words were sincere and expression earnest, yet she couldn't help but feel … betrayed. He was going _again,_ leaving her to 'hold the fort'. Albus didn't wait for her to reply and walked away, his purple cloak billowing in his wake. Minerva felt a hand at her waist and looked to her side to find Severus standing beside her.

"It's for the 'greater good,'" he said, almost bitterly. "That's what I always say to myself."

Minerva opened her mouth to speak, but Severus was marching through the throngs of students who let him pass. She herself was swept away from the staff table as a hand pushed her forward and she looked to the side, her eyes narrowed behind her glasses. Rolanda looked at her, and the hand at the small of her back moved to her side and gripped tightly. Minerva twisted her torso, suitably annoyed and was moments away from reprimanding the Flying Instructor when she was jerked into a small, unused classroom. She threw Rolanda's hand away and turned to face her.

"What the bloody hell is this?" she hissed through clenched teeth. "Dennis Creevey," Rolanda answered. "He's been hurt."

The Head of Gryffindor reared to her full height and glared down at the other woman who was a good four inches shorter. "And you couldn't have told me in a normal fashion?"

Rolanda rolled her eyes. "I didn't want Umbridge to know; he got into an argument with Vincent Crabbe and, knowing the 'toad', she'd punish Dennis not Crabbe. I highly doubt you'd want that."

Minerva said nothing, conceding the point with a nod of her head. "Is he in the hospital wing?" she asked, already moving past the silver-haired woman.

"Yeah," Rolanda answered. "There was a lot of blood …"

At these words, the Head of Gryffindor broke into a run, rushing toward the medical ward. She skidded into the sterile ward, everyone in the vicinity wincing as the high-pitched noise grated on their ears. Her grey eyes immediately fell on the nearest bed where Dennis lay. He was shirtless, and she baulked at the sight of the many bruises and scrapes that littered his torso; they snapped to the bedside table where his shirt was resting, to find it soaked with blood - from a broken nose, no doubt – though Poppy appeared to have healed that already. At the sound of her approaching footsteps, his eyes opened and a pink flush rose in his cheeks.

"Er …"

Poppy looked up from where she was dressing some of the scrapes and eyed her grimly. "Crabbe is in the next bed," she said, jerking her head in the direction of the curtained area. "I imagine you …"

Minerva didn't wait for her to finish, instead marching past Dennis' bed and wrenching the curtains to the side. Vincent Crabbe looked up, holding one hand to his obviously broken nose, which still oozed blood; apparently Poppy was making him sweat before treatment, whilst holding his shoulder with the other.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't expel you," she said coldly, standing alongside his bed. "He provoked me," Crabbe said defensively.

" _Provoked you!"_ Minerva shouted and Crabbe winced. "I don't care that he _provoked_ you! You are a fifth year, he is a third year. What you just did is labelled _bullying!"_

Crabbe glared at Minerva as she reeled in her breath, though her nostrils flared dramatically. "50 points from Slytherin," she said coldly. "And two weeks detention with Filch."

"But, Professor..." Crabbe protested.

"Speak one more word and I'll make it 100 points," Minerva interrupted.

The Slytherin looked, for a moment, as if 100 points was worth saying what was on the tip of his tongue but sensibly desisted and stuck out his jaw defiantly.

"You will stay here until Madame Pomfrey sees fit to keep you," she said icily. "Then return to your classes." "I will need a note," Crabbe pointed out.

Minerva smirked. "No, I think you can explain to your Professor _why_ you are late."

She nodded sharply at the fifth-year who was glaring at her and turned on her heel, pulling the curtains behind her before she walked back to Dennis who was now sitting upright, though he held his side. Minerva looked at Poppy and asked her to leave. The mediwitch obeyed and Minerva sat down next to the boy.

"I've heard Mr. Crabbe's version of events," she said softly. "May I hear yours?"

Dennis swallowed and looked down at the starched sheet. "He, uh, insulted a Gryffindor and I sort of … retaliated."

Minerva raised her eyebrows. "Which Gryffindor?" "Er, you," Dennis mumbled.

The Head of House nodded, urging him to continue.

"So, he, uh, said what he said again, and I called him a shaved chimpanzee and asked him …" His voice trailed off and his cheeks flared dramatically.

"You asked him?" Minerva prompted.

"If he needed a road map to find his arse," Dennis said quickly, averting his gaze from hers.

Minerva was forced to bite the inside of her cheeks lightly to prevent her from smiling and waved a hand for him to continue.

"So, he punched me and knocked me to the ground," Dennis said. "Then leant over and really started to lay into me." Minerva's brow furrowed. "Mr. Crabbe is sporting an impressive broken nose, Mr. Creevey. How did that happen?"

"Oh," Dennis said, looking sheepish. "He was punching me in the side and I kicked out. It was a lucky strike to be honest; it gave me time to get back up, anyway."

"And then?"

The young Gryffindor smiled puckishly. "Then Angelina Johnson came around the corner; I don't think she's forgiven him for the year before last's quidditch match because she hit him with a pretty strong curse which sent him flying backwards, straight into the statue of Tabitha the Tibetan Troll, which then fell straight on top of him."

The corners of Minerva's mouth twitched; a fact which didn't go unnoticed by Dennis whose grin broadened. Minerva coughed and rose quickly, smoothing the front of her robes.

"Well, Mr. Creevey," she said briskly. "I'm afraid I have to take ten points from Gryffindor for fighting." Dennis' expression faltered dramatically.

"But, let's say twenty points to you for … chivalry and another twenty to Miss Johnson for … standing up for others." Dennis grinned.

_-o-_

She left Dennis in the hospital wing, rushing to her classroom where her class were waiting. The general chatter ceased as she entered and she gave the class a curt nod as she strode up the middle of the room, turned and leant against her desk. She folded her arms across her chest, her eyes flickering around the room. To her surprise, they all looked subdued, a fact she dismissed as she started speaking.

"Today, we begin the theory of Animagus transformations," she said clearly. "Now, Animagus transformations are immensely complex, so I hardly need to stress that we will not be attempting any practical work. Now, this is normally left until NEWT level and even then, only the most talented Transfigurations students are allowed to begin the lengthy process. I imagine that some of you heard about Mister Logan's failed attempt; let that be a reminder of the sheer difficultly. Now, for those who do not know what an Animagus transformation looks like, then please turn your attention to me."

Minerva transformed into her feline guise, eliciting a 'wow' from a girl at the front, and applause from others. She leapt onto the table and then onto her chair, re-transforming so she sat behind her desk. Most of the third-years looked extremely impressed, but Minerva's attention was caught by two Ravenclaws who sat at the back on the room, the girl looking close to tears.

"Miss O'Reilly?" Minerva called.

The girl let out a muffled 'sob' and Stuart Johnson, who had his arm around her shoulders, glanced upward. "Sorry, Professor. It's just, we had our first Divination lesson and …"

All of the class jumped in their seats as Minerva's palm connected heavily with her desk. She inhaled deeply, calming herself whilst simultaneously deciding how exactly she was going to murder Sybil Trelawney. So far she was leaning towards manual strangulation.

"Let me guess," Minerva said. "You're going to die?"

Meg O'Reilly burst into tears as Minerva stood and made her way around the classroom, drawing to a halt next to the thirteen-year-old. She knelt down so she was eye-level with the girl and met her blood-shot eyes.

"Miss O'Reilly," she said softly. "Since Professor Trelawney has taken the Divination post, she has predicted the death of at least one student per year. She is yet to be correct."

The blonde girl sniffled and Johnson tightened his grip around her shoulders. "Really?"

"Really," Minerva affirmed. "Now, I'm going to send you to the hospital wing for a calming draught. Mr. Johnson, if you'd be so kind as to escort her?"

Johnson nodded and helped O'Reilly to her feet. The two left the room and Minerva stood upright again and made her way to the front of the room. She scanned the faces of the students; all of whom looked shocked that she apparently had a 'nice' side.

"Back to Animagus transformations," Minerva said sharply.

Five minutes later, she was certain the students thought they'd imagined the whole thing.

_-o-_

The two people who knew for certain that they _hadn't_ imagined the whole thing came to see her after the last period of the day as she was straightening the books on her desk. Minerva called _'come in_ ' at a soft 'knock' at the door and turned to find Meg O'Reilly and Stuart Johnson standing before her, both sporting nervous smiles.

"Miss O'Reilly, Mr. Johnson," Minerva said, nodding at each of them in turn. "What can I do for you?"

Meg bit her bottom lip briefly. "I just wanted to thank you," she said, looking up at Minerva. "For, you know, helping me. I really appreciate it."

Minerva allowed a rare smile to touch her lips. "That is quite all right, Miss O'Reilly."

Meg nodded and turned around; Stuart looked at Minerva, grinning briefly, before turning also and the two exited the classroom and rounded the corner in the direction of the Great Hall. The Head of Gryffindor shook her head in amusement as she place a paperweight atop a heavy pile of homework she had collected before making her way out of the classroom, which she locked behind her with a complex charm she had learned from Albus (it rendered ' _alohamora'_ useless.) She glanced from side-to-side, deciding whether or not to dine in the Great Hall or her chambers.

She decided to brave the former and followed Johnson and O'Reilly who were talking animatedly. They detoured to the Gryffindor table and Minerva watched them for a moment before turning and making her way toward her customary seat. She was suitably annoyed to find a certain toad woman sitting in her chair, but held her tongue and sat next to Rolanda who was eye-balling the High Inquisitor with pure hatred on her hard features.

"Can you be any more obvious?" Minerva asked. Rolanda's gaze didn't falter. "Well, I _could_ punch her."

Minerva flicked her hands out, conceding the Flying Instructors point. "That you could; I'm very glad you haven't, though," she added.

Finally, the other woman tore herself away from Dolores, who seemed unaware of Rolanda's death stare. "Why?" she asked.

"We need to stick together," Minerva said, with mock disbelief in her voice. "We have for two wars; I don't see how Dolores Umbridge is any different."

The corners of Rolanda's mouth quirked upward. "Neither Grindlewald or You-Know-Who took your seat, though."

Minerva grinned; pleased the other woman was at least cracking jokes and turned her attention to the spread of food in front of her. Selecting risotto and heaping it onto her plate, Minerva ate quickly, drawing a distasteful glance from

Umbridge who was eating 'daintily', a napkin spread over her lap, whilst she held her knife and fork as if she were dining with the Queen.

"Professor McGonagall," she reprimanded. "I'm sure there isn't going to be a food shortage."

The Head of Gryffindor finished her mouthful with deliberate slowness and dabbed at the corners of her mouth, mocking Dolores whose toad-eyes had narrowed.

"But there could be," Minerva said finally, folding her napkin and placing it on her now-empty plate. "And better safe than sorry."

She was about to rise to her feet when she realized a certain presence was meeting from the table. "Where's Severus?" she asked.

Rolanda shrugged as she pulled a bowl of ice-cream towards her. Minerva couldn't explain why she felt unease creep through her skin, but found herself hurrying through the halls and into the dungeons. She found the portrait of Salazar Slytherin soon enough, but found herself faltering. Severus wasn't …renowned for his hospitality, and whilst the two were fairly close, she couldn't be certain he wouldn't resent her coming to see him, unannounced. Still, she hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor for nothing, and she nodded curtly to herself, stiffening her resolve, and knocked sharply.

_Rap, rap, rap._

There was no sound from inside and the feeling of unease flew straight to panic and she looked desperately at Salazar Slytherin who stared lazily back.

"Please, let me in," she said quickly.

The Founder shook his head. "No password, no entry."

Minerva gritted her teeth and clenched her jaw. "That was not a request," she said withdrawing her wand from her cloak pocket. "Open, or I swear to Merlin I will burn this pretty portrait of yours."

Salazar sneered, but gave a _yelp_ as Minerva cast a bluebell fire charm and held it close to the canvas. "Three," she said clearly. "Two. One..."

Her hand inched even closer, and after giving a snort of annoyance and muttering what sounded suspiciously like 'hot- headed Gryffindor', the portrait swung open and Minerva entered. It was pitch black inside, and she waved her wand, lighting the many candelabras that lined the walls. The room was in Severus' usual state of almost unnatural neatness and she edged around the sofa, her wand poised for defence. She stepped around a small table, laden with heavy potions textbooks, and her hand flew to her mouth. Severus was lying on his front, a small trickle of blood dripping from his cheek onto the dark timber floor. He was deathly pale, even more so than usual, and his breath sounded labored to her ears. Quickly, she hurried forward and cast a few simple healing charms (surviving two wars had given her quite some practice), turning him on his back and taking his pulse. She gave a sigh of relief; it was slightly elevated, but quite strong.

With a strength that belied her slight frame, she hooked one of the Potions master's arms around her shoulders and hefted him upright, dragging him toward the sofa. She was alarmed by how thin the man was; he probably weighed the same amount as her and she was certainly not at the higher end of the weight scale. Placing him on the sofa as gently as possible, she conjured a crimson blanket, before shaking her head and changing the colour to Slytherin green, and draped it over his still figure. Severus moaned lightly and as she drew back one of his eyes opened. She smiled at him hesitantly, knowing that he detested any show of concern for his well-being. To her surprise, he smiled weakly back and reached out for her hand. She entwined his fingers with hers, trying to instil some warmth into his cold hands.

"Go to sleep," she said softly.

He nodded blearily and shut his eyes. She waited long after the occasional flicker of his eyelashes signaled his journey into somnolence, and sat on the floor, resting her back against the sofa. Severus was still holding her hand tightly and she summoned a book from one of the shelves and propped it against her bent leg, turning the pages with one hand.

_'Wuthering Heights'? Who'd have thought...?_

_-o-_

Heathcliff was glowering; his veins filled with a maniacal jealously when Severus finally awoke. He glanced around, his eyebrows raised, finally falling upon Minerva who had turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. "Good evening …night, really," she said, glancing briefly at her watch.

Severus nodded mutely and when he discovered he was still clasping her hand, let it go quickly.

"You had collapsed," Minerva explained. "I was coming to see you and thought something was amiss so I came inside and … cleaned you up a bit."

The younger man scowled. "I can handle myself, Minerva," he said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Immediately he fell back into the soft cushions, clutching his stomach.

Minerva arched an eyebrow as she rose to her feet and turned to lean against the armrest of the chair next to the sofa Severus sat upon. "After effects of the 'Cruciatus' _?_ " she queried.

Severus' eyes widened alarmingly. "How did...?"

"I have fought in wars, Severus. Unfortunately that has led to me being hit with _'Crucio'_ a few times."

He nodded, wincing in pain. Minerva snapped her fingers, and immediately a house-elf appeared before her. "I need some food, just something basic," she said to the small creature. "And some tea, and a cup of water." "Yes, Miss," the elf said, glancing at Severus who was biting his bottom lip to stop himself crying out in pain.

"Does this happen often?" Minerva asked gently as she walked to the two steps to him and placed her hand on his shoulder, preventing him from moving any further.

Severus shrugged as she sat down next to him. "Only when the Dark Lord is displeased; I've learnt to deal with it." "So, it would seem," Minerva said sarcastically.

Hogwarts' Potions Master glared at her, though it lacked its usual venom. "I didn't ask you to come down, Minerva," he snapped harshly.

"So, you would prefer to be on the floor?" she retorted.

Severus opened his mouth, undoubtedly to argue further, but the elf reappeared with a 'pop' bearing a tray of soup and bread, along with the tea and water. Minerva pushed the soup towards him, but Severus shook his head furiously.

"I'm fine! Can't you..."

"Severus, I can and will spoon feed you if I have to," Minerva said sternly. "Eat. Now."

The younger man glared at her, but Minerva summoned the soup spoon into her hand and held it aloft, the threat clear. "Damn Gryffindors," he muttered, taking the spoon from her and taking a mouthful of soup.

Minerva smiled benignly, and leant back into the cushions of the sofa as she watched him eat. "Why were you visiting me anyway, Minerva?" Severus asked, now half-way through the bowl.

He looked far better, Minerva observed; some semblance of colour had returned to his cheeks and his eyes were brighter.

"You weren't at dinner and … I just felt something was wrong," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

Severus looked skeptical, but nodded as he returned to his meal, reaching for a piece of bread and dipping it into the soup. Minerva looked around the room, suddenly feeling rather awkward, and rose to her feet - she'd never seen Severus look so vulnerable before.

"Well," she said distractedly. "I'll be on my way..."

The younger man paused midway through placing bread into his mouth. "Yes," he said, in an abrupt return to his usual tones. "That would be best."

Minerva rolled her eyes and crossed the length of the room. She was pushing open the portrait when his voice rang out from behind her. "And Minerva?"

She turned and arched a questioning eyebrow. "Thank you."

The Head of Gryffindor smiled softly, well aware how difficult thanking people was for the Slytherin. "You're welcome, Severus."

_-o-_

She had been with Severus for far longer than she realized, for it was nine o'clock when she entered her chambers, throwing her boots into the far corner and draping her outer-robes over one of the wooden chairs around the table. She sat on the same chair and propped her feet on the table, stretching her spine backwards to relieve some of the stiffness that sitting with Severus on a hard, wooden floor had caused. Feeling slightly better, she rose to her feet and went to the kitchenette.

Minerva leant against the bench, waiting for the tea to brew, and stared ahead of her, not really seeing anything. She was worried about the Head of Slytherin; he was more vulnerable than he would ever admit and she … she simply wanted all of this to be over so he could rest. Oh, she did not kid herself, she wanted the war to end for what most would label the 'big' reasons as well, but she saw Severus every day … saw the toll it was taking on him …

A ' _slam_ ' from behind caused her to start violently. She whirled around, wand held aloft ready to curse, to find Pomona Sprout standing at the doorway, looking stunned at her over-reaction.

"Christ, Pomona, announce yourself!" Minerva snapped, tucking her wand back into her belt.

She felt herself unbend at the look on the other woman's face and gestured for her to sit down, conjuring herself a cup of tea.

"What can I help you with?" she asked, curling up on her favourite armchair, legs tucked beneath herself; surely it was nothing too drastic, hopefully something that could wait until tomorrow...

"It's Susan Bones," the Herbology Professor answered with a sigh. "I know she's not in your house, but the girl has been withdrawn lately. I think there's some trouble at home …"

"What sort of trouble?"

"I'm not sure," Pomona answered pensively, biting her bottom lip. "But her aunt, Amelia, contacted me and I have tried talking to the girl but …"

"You want me to talk to her?" Minerva said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, that would be wonderful," she said, her words coming out in one big rush. "I know its out-of-the norm, but …"

"I'll do it," Minerva interrupted. "I have fifth-year Hufflepuffs on Thursday; it will be easy enough to call her back at the end of class."

Pomona smiled gratefully but her expression soon turned shrewd as she took in Minerva's stiff body posture and narrowed eyes.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" she said softly.

Minerva's eyes snapped to hers but she found that the sharp riposte she had prepared to bestow upon the stout woman died in her throat, and she sank deeper into the armchair, resting one hand across her forehead, a gesture as cliché as it was apt.

"There isn't anything wrong, Pomona," she said softly, suddenly feeling tired.

The Hufflepuff Head looked at her sceptically but when Minerva said nothing, Pomona rose to her feet. "If you say so, Min," Pomona said softly as she crossed the room. "Thank you for helping me with Susan."

Minerva waved her thanks away with the hand that wasn't across her forehead, making no sound until she heard the portrait door swing shut behind the Herbology Professor. Though the room was warm, Minerva shivered at the thought of Umbridge who took glee in harming young men and women.

She closed her eyes, and let her head fall back, resting against the high-back of the armchair.

_-o-_

Thursday came far too quickly for Minerva's liking and she massaged her temples as before her, the Gryffindor fifth years attempted to vanish their mice though Hermione Granger and Lavender Brown were now well on their way to perfecting the art of vanishing kittens. She had had only four hours sleep and was looking forward to lunch where she could eat and then (and this she was _really_ happy about) she had the rest of the day off. She was drawn from her thoughts as there was a curse from Seamus Finnigan and she looked upward to find him glaring at Neville Longbottom who had apparently vanished, not the mouse that sat on Neville's desk, looking mildly interested, but Seamus' satchel.

"Bloody hell, Neville," he said, his Irish accent becoming more pronounced. "Look what you've bloody done!" Minerva sighed and waved her wand, Seamus' satchel appearing on his shoulder. Seamus turned to her. "Cheers, Professor," he said, removing the satchel and placing it once again on the table.

"Swear again, Mr Finnigan," Minerva said, ignoring his thanks, "and I'll take five points from Gryffindor."

Seamus made a face but nodded nevertheless. He shot a look at Neville whose cheeks were scarlet and Minerva sighed as she rose to her feet. Neville was a bright boy, but his grandmother, who desperately wanted him to be Frank, had ruined his self-esteem before he'd arrived at Hogwarts and now, at school, he was still as unsure as when he was a first-year. If he just had more _confidence_ …

She swept down the room, to the second row, where Neville sat. He didn't look up as she stopped next to him.

"Longbottom," she said. "You need to slow down the upstroke and then flick your wrist sharply downward. Your pronunciation is excellent; it's only your technique that is at fault. Try it again."

Neville inhaled heavily and pointed his wand at the mouse that looked completely unconcerned that it could potentially be vanished.

"' _Evanesco_!'" he said firmly, flicking his wand.

With a 'crack' the rodent disappeared and Neville stared at the blank space where it once had been.

"Well done, Longbottom," Minerva praised. "Now, try again with another mouse to make sure you have a full understanding of the spell. Then move on to kittens."

"Yes, Professor," Neville said happily, obviously proud of himself.

Minerva smiled faintly and scanned the rest of the class, many of whom had stopped working to witness Neville's attempt.

"I don't recall telling you to desist with your task," Minerva said sharply.

There were many scrabbling noises as students hurried to comply with her orders and Minerva eyed them imperiously once more before heading back to her desk where she could finish the marking she had been neglecting of late.

_-o-_

The fifth years left after the bell had rung and Minerva gratefully gathered up her sizeable stack of parchment (she really had to stop setting so much homework) and walked through the halls, depositing the homework in her chambers before heading back through the halls and into the Great Hall where she sat down next to Severus who looked at her briefly in what she deemed was a 'hello' before returning to his food. Minerva piled a sizeable piece of lasagna onto her plate and was mid-way through when there was a tap on her elbow.

"Hello, Minerva, dear."

The Head of Gryffindor closed her eyes but remembered Pomona's words of 'don't goad.' She looked to the side at Dolores who had sat next to her and smiled (or at least tried to smile; it probably looked more like a grimace.)

"Hello, Dolores," she returned.

Umbridge said nothing further, a fact which surprised Minerva greatly, instead piling her own plate with food and eating in silence. The Head of Gryffindor stared at her; what on earth was going on? They _always_ fought when in any proximity to the other – this was just plain odd. She shrugged and turned to Severus who looked like death warmed up. His skin was sallow and his black eyes dull as he stabbed moodily at his food.

"That lettuce didn't do anything to you," Minerva said softly, hoping to illicit some sort of reaction.

"Ah," the Slytherin Head said, holding up an admonishing finger as he looked toward her. "But it may have in a former life."

Minerva grinned, an expression briefly echoed by Severus before the Potions Master turned back to his food. She frowned slightly as she looked at the younger man, but knew instinctively that he did not want to be involved in more conversation. She shrugged and returned to her lasagna. Nothing more was said from anyone at the staff table, not that she was surprised; Pomona and Rolanda had been taking the two o'clock patrols and could barely keep their eyes open; Septima Vector never spoke at the best of times, whilst Aurora Sinistra leant her elbow against the table, hand against her forehead and looked to be falling asleep where she sat.

The Head of Gryffindor sighed and rose to her feet. Dolores reached out and grabbed her sleeve as she turned to leave.

"Minerva, dear," she said, her grip surprisingly strong (for someone so pouchy, Minerva had assumed she had little muscle; apparently she was wrong). "It seems that you'll have to take both the midnight and the two o'clock patrols. That isn't a problem, is it?"

Her eyes were hard, and Minerva could see that she was almost _daring_ the Head of Gryffindor to argue. "No," Minerva said, her voice sharp. "It's not."

"Excellent."

Umbridge returned to her food and Minerva turned around. Pomona and Rolanda shot her sympathetic looks which she ignored as she swept down from the staff table. Her heels clicked against the stone as she walked, cursing the High Inquisitor. She passed the DADA classroom, stopping when she heard loud cackling from within. It couldn't have been too bad, she reasoned, judging by the five-or-so students who looked positively delighted, but as a Hogwarts Professor she really should take a look. She walked over and peered inside, quickly stepping into the classroom at the looks of the students which plainly said 'shouldn't you be doing something?'

Peeves didn't spare her a moment's pause. "What are you doing?" she asked pleasantly.

This time, he looked up, and tilted his head to the side, obviously wondering why he wasn't at the end of a blistering tirade.

"Setting these up," he answered, pointing at the many waterbombs he had positioned around the classroom. Minerva nodded; not particularly original, but it was Peeves so one couldn't ask too much.

"It looks like you could do with some more," she said in the same conversational tone, flicking her wand so a large pile of filled waterbombs appeared on the table. "Good day to you, Peeves."

A loud cackle was her response.

Marginally more cheerful, Minerva headed out towards her own classroom.

_-o-_

Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were, as a rule, relatively easy to teach, but it seemed that over the course of the holidays any sense of logic had disappeared and thus Minerva found herself with a splitting head-ache whilst trying to figure out _how_ exactly Ernie MacMillan had managed to vanish Hannah Abbot's plaits. She shook her head as she crossed the room, weaving through the aisles of desks. Hannah stood; looking close to tears, her hair – which usually fell well below her shoulder blades – was now cropped close to her head. Beside Hannah, Ernie stood, head bowed, an expression of utmost horror and embarrassment upon his features. Minerva restored Hannah's hair with a flick of her wand before turning to MacMillan who gave a weak smile.

"You need to work on your aim," Minerva said dryly. "The mouse is in front of you, not running about on top of Miss Abbot's head."

Ernie nodded, his cheeks scarlet. "Yes, Professor."

Minerva returned to her desk and as she sat down the bell rang. The class rose as one and Minerva raised her voice to be heard above the general hustle-and-bustle.

"A word, Miss Bones."

Susan turned, and Minerva saw immediately why both Pomona and Amelia were concerned. The girl's skin was so pale to appear translucent and her eyes were dull and shrouded. She looked at Minerva suspiciously as she sat down across from her.

"Yes, Professor?"

Her voice was full of a false brashness and Minerva said nothing until Susan looked down at her lap. "Miss Bones," she said softly. "I imagine you know what I'm about to ask."

The Hufflepuff's head snapped upward and she glared at Minerva. "Yes." "Then please answer me; is there anything wrong?"

Susan jutted her jaw forward. "No, Professor," she said. "There isn't."

Minerva leant forward and looked at the young woman before her, noting the defensive body posture. "Your Aunt wrote …"

"My _Aunt_ needs to mind her own business," Susan interrupted coldly. "And it's not as if she is one to talk."

Susan elaborated no further on her rather curious statement and Minerva merely looked at the girl for several more moments before speaking. "All right, Miss Bones; though I think we both know that's not true; I'll let you go."

Susan nodded sharply and rose to her feet, swinging her satchel over her shoulder. "Susan?" Minerva called, using the girl's first name.

"Yes, Professor?"

"When you want to talk, please come and find me."

The Hufflepuff looked at Minerva shrewdly. "Don't you mean 'if', Professor?" Minerva shook her head. "No, Miss Bones, I don't."

The girl looks nonplussed but soon regained her composure. "Goodbye, Professor," she said shortly with a curt nod.

She strode from the room, her satchel bouncing off her hip. Minerva waited until she had rounded the corner before leaning forward and resting her forehead against the Transfigurations textbook that always resided on her desk.

_Ahh bugger …_

_-o-_


	4. The Skiving Snack-box Range

The weekend came quickly and Sunday morning found Minerva seated at the small table where she finally allowed herself to truly relax. The large pile of marking was finished, various letters and Order documents were signed and she had just said 'goodbye' to Rolanda and Pomona who had attempted to drag her from the castle and to Hogsmeade where, undoubtedly, Rosemerta would be serving her famous mulled mead. The cup of tea she had just made herself rested on the table and she took a sip, savouring the sweet liquid as it ran down her throat. Her mind ran through the various events of the weekend; namely the Order meeting the previous afternoon. Again, there was no news and Albus had not been in contact at all; something which worried Minerva to no end. Albus Dumbledore was undoubtedly a great wizard; but even the elite could be thwarted and to not hear anything from him in over a week … The Head of Gryffindor reprimanded herself immediately for letting her thoughts trail down that particular path and quickly took another sip of tea, scalding her tongue in the process.

Minerva was pushing the mug away from her, her tongue still smarting, when the sound of frenzied pounding at her door caught her attention; banging which inevitably foretold of some sort of disaster, and she left her chair at a sprint, her legs covering the short distance of her chambers to Godric's portrait in less than five seconds. She wrenched the door open to find Fred Weasley leaning forward, hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Sweat coated his skin and his chest heaved as he struggled to speak.

"It's George," he managed, "something went wrong with the nougat and he won't stop bleeding. You were closest."

"Where is he?" Minerva demanded quickly, pushing the question of 'what nougat?' to the back of her mind for discussion at a later date.

"Room of Requirement," Fred breathed, leaning one hand against the wall.

Minerva bolted down the hall; she could hear Fred behind her, but her more athletic build meant she reached George first and a hand flew to her breast in shock. He sat on a simple wooden chair, blood pouring from his nose, and soaking into the white shirt he wore. His skin was deathly pale and his breathing shallow as Minerva reached out and placed a hand against his cheek. Finding him ice-cold, she conjured a blanket which she draped around his shoulders.

Fred entered and she motioned for him to hurry over. "I can't lift him by myself," she said, moving behind George and hooking her arms underneath his shoulders. "You have to help me."

The red-head moved immediately and took hold of George's legs and together the two of them made their way awkwardly down the corridor. Thankfully, the hour was early, and no students were roaming the halls to witness the odd sight. Poppy was tending to a sixth-year with flu symptoms as Minerva pushed the door open with her hip and her mouth fell open in horror.

"Get a blood-replenishing potion, Poppy," Minerva commanded as she and Fred hefted George onto one of the beds. "Quickly."

The school nurse nodded sharply and rushed to the small cupboard where the potions were stored. She withdrew a small vial full of – aptly - blood-red potion and hurried to George's side who had fallen unconscious sometime between the Room of Requirement and the Hospital Wing. Minerva tilted George's head back and Poppy poured the potion into his mouth. The three of them looked on, and slowly colour returned to George's face, though he didn't wake up.

"I'm going to keep him here for a while," Poppy said, looking from Minerva and then to Fred. "Overnight at the very least." Fred swallowed deeply as he looked at his twin. "He's going to be okay though, right?" he asked.

Poppy nodded. "Yes, he will be. Now, I'll ask you to leave now."

Fred shook his head adamantly. "No! I'd prefer to stay."

Minerva placed a hand on his shoulder and when he didn't flinch, gently squeezed. "Let's go, Fred," she said softly. "It won't do you or your brother any good."

Fred said nothing and Minerva took hold of his upper arm and pulled him gently from the hospital wing. She led him through the corridors, intent on taking him all the way to Gryffindor table, but pulled him into her office when he began shaking, shock finally beginning to set in. Fred collapsed with a 'thud' onto the chair in front of her desk and leant forward, hanging his head between his knees. His body shook and he hunched his shoulders, not protesting when Minerva placed a gentle hand on his back.

"Fred," she said softly, flicking her wand and conjuring a cup of sweet tea. "I want you to look up and drink this." The red-head obeyed without a word of protest, and took a sip, though made a face.  
"You need the sugar," Minerva said firmly as he held the tea out towards her, "drink it."

Though her voice remained soft, there was a note of command within, and Fred finished the tea slowly. She could see his body relaxing as the sugar worked its wonders and once he'd finished, Fred looked at her gratefully.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, "I'm sorry-"

She shook her head. "There's no need to thank me," she said softly, "I'd do the same for all my students." 

Fred tilted his head a fraction to the left. "Not all Professors would do the same, though," he said shrewdly.

"True," Minerva conceded, "but that's neither here nor there. Now, I'm going to walk you back to Gryffindor Tower where you can get yourself cleaned up."

Weasley didn't argue, rather he rose to his feet and waited for her to go past before following. Together they wove their way the short distance to their destination and Minerva turned as they drew to a halt.

"Once you're cleaned up, I'd like to see you," she said softly, lest others hear, "you're not in trouble," she hastened to add, "but there are some questions I'd like answered."

She didn't wait for Fred to respond; after-all, he really had no choice in the matter.

-o-

Twenty minutes later, Minerva was showered, changed, and she glanced up from her writing desk as the portrait swung open to admit Fred Weasley. He looked more like his usual self, she observed; colour had returned to his cheeks though his expression of insecurity and mild suspicion was one she'd never seen before.

"Come in, Weasley," she said, beckoning for him to come inside.

He did so slowly, looking at his surroundings with a discerning eye. At her request he sat down, and Minerva rose to her feet, only to lean against her desk, arms folded.

"Madame Pomfrey doesn't tend to ask questions about how students get injured," she said carefully, "however, I do, so please, explain."

Fred hesitated for a moment, opened his mouth to tell what was obviously going to be a lie, before promptly snapping his mouth closed again.

"You know," he said finally, "usually I would spout some crock but you pretty much saved George back there, so maybe honesty actually is the best policy."

"Flattered," Minerva responded drily, wondering where the hell this was going. "Skiving Snackboxes," Fred stated clearly, as if this explained everything.

Minerva frowned. "Come again?"

"Of course, you wouldn't know," Fred said, leaning into the high-backed chair, "good thing, really," he added. The Head of Gryffindor clicked her tongue, indicating he should hurry the hell up.

"Oh, right," Fred said contritely. "Basically, George and I are developing a range of capsules. Take one end and you will be overcome by some sort of terrible infliction, then take the other and return to good health. The one we were developing today was 'nose-bleed nougat.'"

"And what else is there?" Minerva asked, unsure if she really wanted to know the answer.

"Puking Pastilles, Fainting Fancies, Blood Blisterpods, Fever Fudge and, as you already know, Nose-bleed Nougat."

"Of course," Minerva said to no one in particular. "You know, if you spent half the amount of effort you do on your joke products on your school work, I am sure your marks would rival Bill and Percy's."  
Fred shot her a grin. "That's no fun, Professor."

"Though you do appear to be doing some school work," Minerva continued, raising her eyebrows as she spotted Fred's over-loaded satchel.

He flushed. "Professor Flitwick assigned us a four-foot essay and … well … Charms isn't exactly my forte. But it's fine, I won't bother you any more."

Minerva rolled her eyes. "I am a teacher, Weasley," she pointed out. "I am paid to be bothered by you. Now, tell me what the problem is."

"Well, we're learning about the 'Fidelius' charm," Fred said, already back to his cheerful self, "and the theory completely goes over my head."

Minerva sighed as she walked across her chambers to the large bookshelf on the other side. "The 'Fidelius' charm is immensely complex," she said over-her-shoulder. "Not many witches or wizards have the necessary power to even perform the charm as it requires a certain aptitude that many lack."

"Could you do it?" Fred interrupted, leaning forward.

The Head of Gryffindor nodded as she withdrew three heavy tomes from a middle-shelf. "Yes, I can," she affirmed. "I have twice; now," she said, raising her voice slightly as Fred looked to speak again, undoubtedly to ask when she had used the 'Fidelius,' something she was simply not going to answer. "Now, as you would know, there are a certain amount of steps, four to be exact. Why aren't you writing this down?"

Fred dived into his satchel and withdrew a quill and parchment, holding the former expectantly. She sighed and bit the inside of her cheek briefly before continuing.

"Now, the four steps; information, incantation, validation and, finally, confirmation. IIVC. The information, whatever that may be, is integrated into the incantation. So, if I were hiding a location, for example 'The Burrow', the incantation would be fidel-buroque-jour which would then be validated by the person whose secret it is and then confirmed. Following the confirmation, the information has been transferred and it is impossible for anyone else to retrieve that information unless the Secret-Keeper is willing, or forced, to give it."

She walked back to the small table and placed the three books to Fred's left as she finished her monologue. "These," she said, tapping the top book in the centre, "will give more detail."

"Thanks a bunch, Professor," Fred said, pushing the piece of parchment into his pocket. "This is brilliant." "Hm," Minerva responded, sitting once again at her desk, "I think that was everything..."

Her sentence faded into mid-air when Fred seemed disinclined to move. She arched an inquiring eyebrow. "Weasley-?" she began.

"This is going to sound weird, Professor," he interrupted, words whooshing from his mouth like a stream over a waterfall. "But Hermione's had this idea that we build out own … defence association so we can learn how to defend ourselves and, you know… fight."

His eyes locked on Minerva's, which had widened at his words.

"You know, because Umbridge is teaching us sod-all and … I just thought you should know …" he ended lamely, looking mildly apprehensive at Minerva's expression.

"Defense association?" the Gryffindor Head said eventually.

"Yeah, there's going to be a meeting this coming Hogsmeade weekend. I just …"

Minerva held up a hand as she frowned to herself. She could not deny that Miss Granger's idea was … well practical, Lord knew that the students needed to be able to defend themselves … but if they were caught … 

She bit her lip and looked over at Fred who was watching her intently.

"Well, thank you, Weasley," she said softly. "I appreciate you telling me." Fred raised his eyebrows. "What are you going to do?" he asked.

"Probably strangle Miss Granger for thinking of such a thing; then revive her and give 50 points to Gryffindor for an excellent and practical idea," Minerva answered dryly.

Weasley laughed and shook his head, though he never lost eye contact with her. "Not quite the reaction I was expecting," he said, finally picking up his satchel.

"What were you expecting?" Minerva asked, genuinely intrigued.

"Er…" Fred faltered and he tilted his head slightly to the side, his brow furrowed. "I don't know," he said finally. "If you'd asked me a fortnight ago, I'd have said you would have put me in detention for the rest of my days, but now … with this whole prank thing … and then helping George..." He bit his bottom lip, eyeing her critically. "I just don't know."

Minerva nodded, knowing this was the most coherent answer she'd get from Weasley at the present time. "I see." Fred shrugged. "Sorry, Professor. That's the best I can do."

"So, why tell me?" Minerva shot back immediately.

There was a long silence in which Weasley traced patterns on the table and Minerva watched him shrewdly. "I guess because you're pretty cool," he answered eventually with a wink. "You know, I don't get it, Professor," he continued, swivelling in his chair to face her, "for nearly seven years I've thought you were …well a prude really, and then I find out that you actually have a sense of humour, and are quite …fun. Why aren't you like that normally?"

The Head of Gryffindor's extensive vocabulary eluded her completely as she looked at the teenager who reminded her so much of a person she had lost. Fred looked back, unaware of the tidal wave of emotions he had let loose.

"I hardly think that's any of your business," she said eventually.

Weasley's expression faltered and changed to one of contrition. "Professor," he said. "I didn't mean to …" 

Minerva held both hands up and Fred fell silent. "I'm sure you can finish that essay elsewhere, Weasley."

Her tone carried a definite finality and the red-head nodded and rose to his feet, lingering briefly as if caught between two forces; one telling him to stay and the other telling him to get the hell out of there. The latter won out and he left her chambers without further word. Now alone, Minerva looked down at the table, eyes closed. A voice, youthful and full of laughter – one from long ago - echoed in her mind.

"He didn't know, Minerva. He didn't know."

Her gaze drifted to the mantle above the fire. A photo taken nearly fifty years ago rested in the center, and her younger self beamed toward her whilst a man pinned her arms to her sides. He was taller than her by two-or-so inches and his arms wrapped them around her waist as he lifted her bodily from the ground; her struggling for him to let her go though she continued to laugh. She looked into the face of her brother and her throat constricted as her photographic self punched him on the arm, forcing him to drop her. They fell to the snow covered ground, laughing to the point they were unable to move, and Minerva looked away as an all-too-familiar 'pang' of grief ran through her.

Marcus was her twin and from the moment they were born they were inseparable. The two had entered Hogwarts together and were soon renowned for their outrageous pranks which surpassed even the best of the Marauders or the Weasley twins. At 14, they mastered their animagus transformations and would sneak around the castle, Minerva in her feline guise, and Marcus disguised as a Great Dane. No one knew of their animagus abilities which granted them an anonymity that allowed them access to every part of the castle. From hidden passageways they would travel to Hogsmeade and raid Honeydukes or - more often - Zonkos.

He'd died on their 20th birthday, crossing the road from where they lived in London. A lorry had sped around the corner pursued by the police, and Marcus didn't have time to react and was crushed beneath its wheels. Given the properties of a wizard, theoretically he should have survived, but the Healers were less than proficient and he had died hours later.  
Yes, if she were honest with herself, Marcus was the reason she was allowing Fred Weasley to have tea with her. She had met no one else like Marcus, and yet she could recognize flashes of her brother in the red-haired adolescent.

Perhaps it was his easy manner, though he had shown that he could also be shy, but Fred Weasley, whilst he didn't look at all like Marcus, was a dead-ringer for him in other ways.  
Minerva groaned and leant forward, resting her forehead against the table.

This was just what she needed.

-o-

Five hours later saw Minerva on her way to the Great Hall for lunch and she stopped short at one of the first-floor windows and peered out. A crowd of students had congregated around one of the outer trees of the Forbidden Forest, all of them looking upward. Years as an educator gave Minerva the obvious suspicion that something was amiss, a feeling which increased when she recognised Pomona as she strode across the grounds, shoulders back, looking particularly irritated. Minerva closed her eyes for a moment, wishing she could simply forget what she'd witnessed and proceed to lunch. However, for some bizarre reason, both curiosity and duty won out and she hurried towards the front doors, weaving her way through throngs of students.

It was as she rounded the corner of the Great Hall that something short and compact collided with her and it was only her quick reflexes that prevented her from going sprawling to the ground. Rose Zeller, half of Hogwarts rising pranksters was not so lucky, and Minerva held out her hand and helped the girl to her feet.

"Professor McGonagall," the girl wheezed, "Professor Sprout asked if you-" "Go and meet her outside," Minerva finished, "thank you, Miss Zeller."

The Hufflepuff's eyes were wide, no doubt wondering how Minerva knew this small fact, though Minerva chose not to enlighten her; it was helpful to have students' believe she possessed an innate ability to know where there was chaos.

"Er... right," Zeller said, clearly wrong-footed.

Minerva gave her a curt nod and side-stepped around the girl, continuing toward the grounds. The crowd around the tree had grown in the short time she had been unable to see outside and it was with some difficultly that Minerva was able to push her way through enough to get to Pomona's side.

"What-?"

"It's Gregory Goyle," Pomona cut in, sounding thoroughly annoyed, "the stupid boy took some Billywig from the Greenhouses, apparently the plan was to let it mature, then grind it into powder and bribe the house-elves into sprinkling it over the Gryffindor quidditch team's breakfast the day of the up-coming match. However, his equally bright partner-in- crime, Vincent Crabbe, dared him to eat a portion which resulted in him becoming delirious and was under the impression that the – and this is a direct quote – 'spirits of the unknown' were out to get him. He then made a break for the Forbidden Forest and scaled a pine tree in order to get away from the afore-mentioned spirits."

She said all of this in one breath and it took Minerva a second to fully process her words. She opened her mouth to speak, but anything she might have said was cut off by a highly girlish squeal emanating from the top-most branches. Pomona took a few steps backward in an effort in an effort to see further up the tree but from her muttered obscenity, she was unsuccessful. Minerva echoed her movements, and managed to see the boulder-like form of Goyle clinging to a top-most branch, his eyes tightly closed. The idiot.

Sighing at his stupidity, Minerva pointed at her throat, thinking 'Sonorus.'

"IF ALL OF YOU ARE NOT IN THE GREAT HALL WITHIN THE NEXT TEN SECONDS I WILL START BY TAKING 50 POINTS FROM YOUR HOUSE!" she bellowed at the top of her lungs.

The effect was instant and students jostled with each other as they sprinted across the lawn. Pleased she could illicit that much fear, Minerva turned her attention to Pomona who looked simultaneously amused and irritated.

"How are we going to do this?" Minerva asked, pushing the sleeves of her robes up to her elbows.

Pomona sniffed as she echoed Minerva's movements. "No sodding idea."

-o-

It took one hour of coaxing to get Goyle down from the tree, another half-hour to get him to the Hospital Wing as he kept trying to escape. Eventually, Minerva snapped and placed him in a full body-bind and levitated him before her as she and Pomona went through the hallways. Students looked at them curiously as they passed, not surprising really, she reasoned, their Transfigurations Professor levitating the large Gregory Goyle through the halls was hardly something they saw everyday.

However, that didn't stop it from being intensely irritating. Beside her, Pomona seemed to feel the same.

"There's nothing to see here, Perkins! Five points from Ravenclaw!"

Allowing herself a smile, Minerva opened the door to the Hospital Wing to find Poppy re-arranging the medicine cabinet. The reason why was beyond Minerva, the matron kept everything in the ward immaculate.  
"Good grief!" the nurse exclaimed, jumping to her feet and rushing towards Minerva as she flicked her wand, depositing him in the bed next to George Weasley. "What happened?"  
Minerva waved towards Pomona as she herself sat down and conjured herself a cup of tea. "Pomona will explain."

-o-

Minerva strolled back towards her office, annoyed that she had missed lunch, but reasoned she could have food sent directly. Not that this did anything to greatly appease her; contrary to popular belief, she did enjoy interacting with people at levels other than simply reprimanding students. Minerva entered her office, somewhat surprised to see the visitor's seat already full.

"Mr Weasley?" she asked, sweeping past him to her desk.

Fred looked at her with something akin to surprise, which she ignored. He was easily distinguishable even from behind, with George out of commission and Ronald more likely to walk on hot coals rather than see her voluntarily, the list of suspects was hardly long.

"Hey, Professor," he said, as she sat down.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's about this morning," Fred said quickly, "I wanted to apologise."

Minerva's shoulders slumped slightly; she had almost forgotten her truly unfair treatment of Weasley earlier. "There's no need," she assured, "I was out of order, not you."

Fred's eyes nearly fell out of his sockets; not surprising, really.

"How did you know I was going to be here?" Minerva asked curiously.

Weasley shrugged. "I knew you were at the Hospital Wing after that prat Goyle got himself stuck up a tree... speaking of which," he said brightly, "where can you buy Billywig?"

Minerva frowned. "It's a Class C Dangerous substance," she answered sharply, "something not to be trifled with."

Fred bit his lip, suitably chastised, though Minerva had no doubt that Mundungus Fletcher would be getting his hands on some Billywig in the near future.

"Anyway," Fred said, changing the subject, "I figured it was here or your chambers and I wasn't really going to push my luck by going to your chambers again so-"

"So, here you are," Minerva finished drily.

"And here I'm going," Fred retorted, "Goodbye, Professor McGonagall." And with that, he left her office.

-o-

To Minerva's delight and - if she were completely honest with herself – surprise, the rest of the afternoon passed without further incident and it was with a relatively light step hat she made her way to dinner. Pomona was already there, as was Aurora Sinastra, and she settled herself in-between the two.

"We've missed you," the Astronomy Professor said as she pulled her chair in. "Thank you," Minerva said with a faint smile.

She rather liked Aurora Sinastra; the woman was reserved, that was true, but once one got past that they found a wicked sense of humour and brains to match.

"Hem, hem."

"Knew it couldn't last," Aurora muttered beneath her breath, "I'd been hoping for ten minutes at a meal without that woman breathing down our necks."

"And how are we all, this evening?" Dolores asked, clearly expecting a positive response.

She was disappointed and Minerva, Aurora and Pomona simply glared at her before returning to their own conversation. "You were saying?" Minerva asked loudly.

Behind her, she could have sworn she heard steam whooshing out of Umbridge's ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to get this uploaded onto A03 as well as fanfiction.net.   
> Hope everyone enjoyed! Please review.


	5. Old Lovers, New Animosities

The Head of Gryffindor wrapped a scarf around her neck and pulled on a pair of fur-lined gloves. It was Saturday, and thus she was off to the obligatory Order meeting. Outside, Hogwarts was awash in grey and a light layer of fog had crept across the lake, bleeding into an overcast sky which threatened to pour down at any moment. She glanced at the mirror over the mantle and upon finding her appearance reasonable, if not her best, nodded perfunctorily to herself and grabbed her Muggle overcoat which she slipped over her shoulders as she exited her chambers. As she strode through the corridors of Hogwarts, she elicited several startled glances from a number of the students she passed. Whilst not revealing in any way whatsoever, to see their Transfigurations Professor in anything other than her usual teaching robes was apparently a great shock, as Eloise Midgen demonstrated when her hand flew against her forehead.

Teenagers seemed to exude melodrama.

Minerva sniffed and pulled the sash of the overcoat tighter around her slim waist as she entered the Entrance Hall, which was mercifully empty of both students and staff. Her long legs ensured she exited the castle quickly and she walked briskly down the gravel path, not stopping to exchange pleasantries with Wilhelmina who appeared to be holding bundles of black fur. The gravel gates swung open as she approached and she stepped outside and with a ' _pop_ ' apparated to a small alley near Grimmauld Place.

The weather had broken in the capital city and she was surrounded by wild wind and showers of heavy rain. The streets streamed with water and the surface of the Thames looked like pocketed steel. She side-stepped an inside-out umbrella, which was soon run over by a bus. Minerva ignored the sickening ' _crunch_ ' and turned the corner. The dingy strip of buildings which hid Grimmauld Place was devoid of muggles and she ascended the stairs quickly and rapped twice on the door. It was pulled open moments later by a beaming Nymphadora Tonks who greeted her with a large smile and gestured for her to come inside.

"Mad Eye's bloody mental," the pink-haired Auror said as they walked down the corridor, Minerva depositing her overcoat on one of the metal hooks. "Last night he actually managed to 'catch' a Death Eater, but it turned out to be a mangy bloody cat …" Her voice trailed off at Minerva's raised eyebrow. "I mean, it turned out to be just a cat … 'cause I like cats, Professor. I mean, they're great the way they can slink around … not that they slink, more like wander about quietly …"

Minerva held up her hand, silencing the blushing young woman. "I know what you meant," she reassured.

Tonks exhaled in relief as they entered the living room, and both women's expressions sobered at the sight before them. Remus was pacing the floor; Sirius was glowering at everybody as he sipped what looked to be scotch from a crystal tumbler whilst Albus and Moody were arguing over a number of sheaves of parchment. Neither wizard noticed Minerva's entrance. The Head of Gryffindor let off her wand with a sound like a gun-shot that echoed through the room, making all occupants jump.

"I was summoned," she said flatly, her eyes boring into Albus'. "What was so urgent?"

Alastor glared at her and coughed from Albus' side. "What are you bringing _her_ here for, Dumbledore?" he said gruffly, gesturing at Minerva who tensed at the Auror's words.

"Minerva is able to go places that neither you nor I can, Alastor," Albus said, not looking at his long-time friend, whom Minerva detested with every fibre of her being; the feeling was mutual for both parties. "And she has a certain ... _knack_ for strategy that even _I_ lack."

The Transfigurations Professor was slightly taken aback by the Headmaster's complimentary words, dosed with a small amount of his usual arrogance, but gave no indication of her surprise as she seated herself next to Sirius who gudgingly moved across.

"I'm waiting on tenterhooks," she said dryly, crossing her legs as she leant back into the old sofa.

Albus smiled slightly at this as he handed her the same parchments he and Alastor had been poring over. They depicted various maps of the United Kingdom, with red flags over different locations. She looked up in question.

"Severus was recently told the positions of attacks in the future," Albus explained. "We can see no apparent pattern."

Minerva nodded as she flicked her wand, and the parchment suspended itself in mid-air, offering her a better view. The red flags gleamed at her, and she was silent for several minutes as her eyes travelled over each map, occasionally she waved her wand, causing a red streak to appear on the maps.

"It's a farce," she said eventually, summoning the parchment back to herself. "If there's one thing about the Dark Lord that is consistent, it's that he is _organised._ This is exactly the opposite _._ "

"Which means what exactly?" Sirius said irritably from her side.

"I imagine Severus got this information from someone _other_ than You-Know-Who?" Minerva said, not sparing the Animagus a second glance.

"No," Albus disagreed, shaking his head. "He received the information from two parties. Voldemort _and_ Lucius Malfoy.

Minerva nodded, suitably rebuked, biting her bottom lip in concentration as she spread the maps over her lap, occasionally tapping a red-flag with her wand, turning it gold.

"As much as this is interesting, McGonagall ..."

Alastor's sneering voice trailed off as Minerva again suspended the parchment and all of the Order members gave various signs of surprise. Remus sighed deeply, Tonks whistled beneath her breath, Sirius snorted and turned his head, Alastor glowered and Albus smiled. Above them all, twinkling in the faint light of the candelabras, was the letter 'V', the apex of the letter sitting straight on a familiar location.

Hogwarts.

Minerva nodded at Albus, pleasantly pleased with herself, and rose to her feet. "If there's nothing else then ..."

"Stay for dinner, McGonagall," Remus said, earning himself a glare from Sirius. "It's only a casual thing, but you're welcome to."

The Head of Gryffindor smiled even as she shook her head. "No, I should be getting back …"

"It's a Saturday, Minerva," Kingsley Shacklebolt interrupted. "You don't have to be at Hogwarts. Please. Stay." She paused for several moments before nodding. "All right, you've convinced me."

The Auror smiled and made a sweeping motion with his arm and ushered her into the kitchen where the table had been set. Minerva seated herself next to Kingsley (who held her chair out for her – he always had been the perfect gentleman) and Remus slid in on her other side. The werewolf flicked his wand and six plates of food - Tonks, Sirius and Alastor had also elected to stay whilst Albus had left almost immediately; on an 'important 'mission' no doubt - flew toward them and skidded to a halt, stew spilling from several. Remus gave an apologetic grin, which she returned, before flicking his wand again; slices of bread smothered in butter on small plates flew to their right sides and the werewolf bowed theatrically as he spoke in a dreadful French accent.

"Messieurs and Mademoiselles, please eat."

_-o-_

Dinner was finished and Minerva took the pile of plates to the sink. Remus made to follow, but Minerva waved him away. "I'll wash up," she said over-her-shoulder. "I'm sure you can do something else."

Remus walked to her side and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Are you sure?" he asked. Minerva rolled her eyes as she nodded. " _Yes,_ go on now."

The werewolf kissed her on the cheek and walked to the doorway. "Are you sure …?" "Lupin," Minerva said sharply, turning round, wielding the scrubbing brush like a wand.

"And I'm gone," said the younger man, holding his hands up.

He left the room and Minerva turned back to the sink which she filled with water. Though she knew she could use magic, she liked using the Muggle method of washing-up as she found it quite relaxing. She was mid-way through the plates when she heard footsteps behind her and rolled her eyes.

"Lupin! I said I'd do it!" "Sorry to disappoint."

Minerva whirled around and Sirius looked lazily back, obviously pleased by her reaction. He was holding a crystal tumbler and a bottle of scotch and toasted her silently.

"Getting jumpy, are we?" he said snidely as he walked to the bench and leant his hip against it, watching her with his grey eyes full of cruel amusement. It was obvious he was drunk and he spilled some scotch as he refilled his glass.

The Head of Gryffindor glared at him as she dipped the plate in the soapy water and began to scrub furiously at the white china.

"In these times it pays to be a bit 'jumpy'," she retorted, now placing the plate on the rack to dry. "Hmm," he said absent-mindedly, tracing the grain of the wooden bench.

There was silence for several moments, which Minerva broke. "What do you want, Sirius?"

"Just a friendly chat," the Animagus said with an insincere smile that spoke volumes. "Like old times."

His voice had taken on _that_ tone again; one that preceded every argument they had ever had over the past year-and-a- half, which she had stopped counting when they reached thirty-eight. Minerva let the plate go and it disappeared into the soapy water as she turned to glare at the animagus. "I've apologised, Sirius," she said through gritted teeth. "What else do you want?"

Sirius snorted derisively, pushing himself off the bench and walking to her. He stumbled slightly and Minerva grabbed his shoulders to stop him falling to the ground. "What do I _want,_ Minerva?" he hissed, batting her away irritably. "I want a lot of things. I want the twelve years I spent in Azkaban back, for one."

Minerva closed her eyes briefly. "I can't give you that, Sirius," she said softly. "If I could, I would, but I _can't._ "

"You know what I _really_ wanted, when I was first arrested," he continued, as if she had said nothing at all. "I wanted someone to believe me but not one of you did. Not Remus, supposedly one of my best friends. Not Dumbledore, who let me go to Azkaban without a trial. And not even _you_... you who I adored since seventh year. Do you know how that _feels_?"

The Head of Gryffindor shook her head as her arms fell limply to her sides, knowing she could not snap back at him as per usual. This conversation was too close to the heart.

"It makes you want to scream," he said bitterly. "To hit something, anything; and you don't know if you're angry, sad, hurt ... all these emotions just ... _meld_ together until you … you …" He reached out and gripped her shoulders so tightly she felt her flesh bruise beneath his fingers. "Well, look at me!" he shouted, shaking her roughly.

Minerva said nothing as he glowered down at her, his eyes lit with anger and alcohol. She looked upward at him; gone was the man she had known who had placed his jacket over her bare shoulders so many years ago. His careless smile, once so easily seen, was replaced by a perpetual sneer which she saw now.

"Well, aren't you going to say anything?"

Minerva tried to step back but his hold on her shoulders was too strong and she swallowed before speaking. "I'm sorry, Sirius," she said softly, knowing her words were of no real consequence. "More than you'll ever know."

Sirius paused for a moment and then began to laugh. It was one of the most horrible sounds Minerva had ever heard, entirely devoid of humour and it echoed about her until it sounded like ten Sirius' were laughing.

"You're _sorry?_ " Sirius said eventually after he finished laughing. "You're _sorry?_ Do you think that means anything to me,

_anything?_ "

"What else can I say?" Minerva asked as he squeezed her arms even more tightly.

"Nothing," he replied easily. "It wouldn't matter if you got on your knees and grovelled; nothing you could do would give me those years back." He smirked and let go of one of her arms and brushed his fingers against her cheek in what might have been tender in other circumstances. He leant forward to whisper in her ear. She could smell alcohol on his breath and turned her head away. "Not even you can change the past, Minerva," he said softly. "Hell, even Dumbledore can't."

Minerva stiffened as he gripped her chin and forced her to look at him. The Sirius she saw was not the one she had known. He had retained remnants of the Black's signature good-looks, but Azkaban had taken most away and he now looked like a human shell.

"Let me go," she said softly. "Please."

Sirius stepped back and pushed her away from him lightly. She turned back to the washing up and once again began scrubbing, this time at a saucepan.

"Why are you here?" Sirius asked, pouring himself yet another glass of scotch. "You should be at Hogwarts, protecting your students, protecting my godson!"

"I will be at Hogwarts very soon, Sirius," Minerva said, trying to placate him.

"And then into your little nightie with a glass of wine?" he said sarcastically. "Making sure you get your beauty sleep, after all, you're not getting any younger."

Minerva closed her eyes to calm herself down; she knew - or rather hoped - that it was the alcohol speaking and not Sirius.

"That is true," she said calmly.

Sirius tilted his head and eyed her shrewdly. "Jeez, Minnie, you _do_ need your beauty sleep; you're looking tired." "Maybe that's because I actually _work_ , Sirius!" Minerva snapped, her temper getting the better of her.

"Meaning what?" Sirius said coldly, placing the tumbler and bottle on the bench. "Forget it," Minerva sighed, rolling her eyes.

"No," Sirius said, reaching out and grabbing her wrists. The plate she had been washing fell to the ground and shattered into fragments as he turned her to face him. Minerva wrenched herself free of his grasp and the two animagi glared at each other, grey boring into green-grey. "What do you mean? Are you saying I don't work?"

Minerva's eyes glittered and she held the younger man's glare. "Isn't that the truth?" she said, feeling a tinge of vindictive pleasure as Sirius baulked slightly.

"You know nothing, _nothing_ about what I do here," he snarled, regaining his composure.

"That's because there's nothing to tell," Minerva spat. "You get up, eat, make a snide comment about me, Kreacher, Severus, anybody, eat again and go to bed only to repeat the same cycle the next day."

"I would do more if I could get out!" Sirius growled,

"And whose fault is that; that you can't go out? Not mine, not anybody's, that accolade falls onto your shoulders and yours alone," Minerva retorted. "You _had_ to be the 'heroic godfather' and escort Harry to Platform Nine-and-Three Quarters knowing full-well that Lucius Malfoy or another Death Eater would be there."

"I wanted to protect my godson!" Sirius said angrily. " _That's_ why I went to the station." "And a fat lot of good it did!" Minerva retorted. "What did it achieve?"

Sirius said nothing and glared at the floor.

"That's right," Minerva said. "It achieved nothing, _nothing_ except to ensure that you have to stay inside. Have to 'keep your paws clean' so to speak." She knew she was being cruel but the words kept spewing from her mouth, each laden with a degree of sheer hatred she hadn't known she possessed. "Maybe that's why you went," she continued. "To keep yourself safe."

"That is not true!" Sirius shouted, reaching out and gripping her wrists tightly. "Not true!"

He flung her away from him with force and she collided heavily with the wall. She spun around, ignoring the blood trickling from her temple and reached for her wand only to realise it was still resting next to the sink. Sirius followed her line of vision and she rushed toward him, trying to reach the wand first. Perhaps because he wasn't expecting her to move so quickly or because his reflexes were dulled by alcohol, her fingers wrapped around the rosewood first and she pointed it toward the younger man.

"Go upstairs, Sirius," she said softly but with a line of authority in her voice. "Go to bed."

He rolled his eyes but nevertheless grabbed the tumbler and the scotch bottle and left the room. Now alone, she turned back to the sink and rested both her hands against the bench, leaning her bodyweight against the wood. Minerva inhaled deeply and blinked rapidly to quell the tears that threatened to fall; her eyes fell on one of the clean plates and she grabbed it and hurled it at the opposite wall willing herself to forget this latest conversation between the two animagi … and any other exchange between them really. She could hear Sirius walking through the house, ascending the stairs to his bedroom. She exhaled and opened her eyes, looking before her without seeing the faded wallpaper. Shaking her head to bring herself into prescient time, she pushed her memories deep into her cerebral cemetery and reached into the sink. The water had gone cold and as she flicked her wand, both vanishing the tepid water and refilling the sink, refusing to allow herself to sink back into the memories of the past Sirius had so easily brought forward.

_-o-_

Hours later, Minerva sat at her writing desk, quill poised above a letter she was writing to Emmeline Vance, a minor member of the Order. She had not written one word for several minutes as the conversation with Sirius ran riot in her mind.

" _I wanted someone to believe me but not one of you did."_

Thirteen years ago, smiling as he placed his jacket around her shoulders, keeping the night chill at bay. " _Thank you."_

" _There's no need."_

Twelve months ago, a hand slapped him hard across the face, leaving a pink hand-print. " _I don't deserve this, Sirius!"_

" _Deserve what? A home truth?"_

Minerva threw the quill onto the desk, dispelling her memories and peered out the window. Heavy rain was falling, turning the grounds into slush. She sighed and pushed her quill and parchment away from her; there was no possibility that her letters would be finished tonight. She truly loathed the way that Sirius could still, after so many years, incite emotions that she could suppress with most others, though she did take some comfort - and she wasn't proud of this - in the fact that she could do the same to Sirius.

She left the desk and her unfinished letters to cross the room and leave her chambers, ignoring Godric who called out reprimands as she rounded the corner. The stone halls were devoid of people and she folded her arms across her chest and walked slowly; most unlike her usual fast pace which was more akin to a march. She turned the corner, her thoughts in no-man's land and promptly bumped into one of her students; a Gryffindor if the red scarf was anything to judge by.

"Oof! _Do_ watch where you're going!" Minerva reprimanded sharply, stepping back from the youth as she rubbed her shoulder.

"Sorry, Professor."

Minerva raised an eyebrow at one Harry Potter who looked to be walking the halls in the same manner as well as the same reasons as she; slowly and without company, obviously lost in his own thoughts. The boy, well man really looked back at her and Minerva found herself unable to speak for several moments. He had grown up so quickly, both physically and mentally, over the past few months, that she hadn't noticed its occurrence. He had only recently turned fifteen but if she hadn't known him so well - or rather been near him so long; she doubted that Potter took many into confidence - she would place his age at seventeen, perhaps eighteen. He was a fifteen-year-old veteran of war. Many thought him arrogant and his very maturity had often been mistaken for egotism. What people seldom realised was that the world _did_ revolve around his actions, and that he _was_ integral to the war that had never really ended.

He held himself with a posture that dangerously toed the line between confidence and arrogance, with his held head

aloft and his shoulders thrust backward. His forehead was smooth and descended to vivid green eyes which, whilst still alight with youth, were also somewhat shrouded by an internal Azkaban. His cheekbones - whilst not high were also not low - and his mouth, which at the present time was tightened into what could almost be called a scowl, was small. His body was lean to the point of being 'skinny' but his seeming frailty was belied by the brawny muscle which strained against the material of his shirt, and the veins which snaked over his forearms, clearly visible where he had pushed his sleeves up to his elbows.

"That's all right, Potter," she said finally as Potter continued to look at her with those impossibly green eyes. "Just watch yourself in future."

"Yes, Professor," he said, nodding toward her.

He passed her, not looking back and was nearly at the end of the hall when Minerva called out. "Do be careful, Potter," she said, looking directly into his eyes. "With _all_ your endeavours, not just your school work."

Potter looked puzzled but Minerva said nothing more as she turned neatly and continued in the opposite direction at her usual brisk pace. Only when she was certain that Potter, or any other student for that matter, wasn't about, did she slow down and lean against the stone wall. A slight chill from the window caused her to shiver and she pushed herself away and took the short route to her chambers via the opening next to Edward the Edwardian Elf. Godric opened his mouth to speak but Minerva cast a Silencing Charm on the portrait who glared at her instead, bringing new meaning to the saying 'if looks could kill.'

Minerva ignored this and entered her chambers, feeling even sketchier than she had been before she left. She removed her robes and ten minutes later found her similarly attired to Potter, with black muggle pants and a white blouse with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. The rain had increased and she could only see faint lights that showed that people were still awake, though they were vanishing rapidly as nine o'clock loomed closer. Soon enough, she heard the chiming of the clock on her mantle and the last of the lights were extinguished.

She turned and leant against the window sill. Her head throbbed from where she had hit the wall after Sirius had flung her away from him and she reached upward and touched the small dressing she had applied to the small wound. There had been no need to wake Poppy for such a small injury and she was adept enough at Healing to know how to dress a wound. Next to her, she glanced at the unwritten letters and closed her eyes briefly. That letter to Emmeline really couldn't wait. Sighing, she walked the three steps to her desk and sat down, pulling a quill and parchment toward her.

Mouth pursed and glasses perched on her nose, she began to write.

_-o-_

Sunday passed far too quickly for Minerva's liking and she groaned as she turned off the alarm on Monday morning; not that she had slept much, she groused as she rose to her feet and shrugged a dressing gown over her shoulders.

Thanks to Umbridge she had been awoken at one o'clock to help reverse a badly cast Transfiguration Spell that someone, undoubtedly trying to emulate the Weasley twins, had cast on the door to her chambers. The spell, which was obscure rather than difficult, had been easy enough to reverse but then she was forced to traipse the halls with the High Inquisitor in the hopes of catching the culprits.

She yawned as she entered her living room and pointed her wand at the kettle which billowed steam immediately. She made the tea quickly and sat down, never more grateful that she had the first period free and could stay in her chambers that small amount longer. Covering her mouth with her hand as she yawned, she reached for the small pile of letters she hadn't opened the night before and perused them briefly. Finding nothing of note, she banished them to the fireplace and leant back in the armchair and rested her feet against the coffee table.

She supposed she must have fallen asleep for she wasn't prepared for the loud _'smash'_ or the shattering glass which littered her chambers. On her feet in moments, forcing herself to ignore the tea which had spilled down her front, Minerva spun toward the source of the noise to find a horror-struck Ravenclaw quidditch team staring back at her, hovering at the window.

"Uh..." Roger Davies managed.

"Um..." Alex Bradley was hardly more coherent. "Behind you!"

Minerva didn't have to turn to know what Cho Chang's shrieked warning pertained to. The sharp motion of her hand was too quick to see and Minerva caught the conjured beater's bat in her hand as she twisted around on her toes. With a _'crack'_ that sounded through the air like lightning, the way-ward bludger was punted back in the direction it came.

"Shouldn't you reign that thing in?" Minerva snapped when no one seemed to move.

Brought back into reality (though Davis and Bradley's eyes had lingered a little longer than Minerva was pleased about – the seventh years were getting extra homework this week) the Ravenclaw team finally turned and flew back to the quidditch pitch. Thoroughly annoyed, Minerva waved her wand, repairing the shattered glass, and wondered if this was a sign of things to come.

_-o-_

Her mood hadn't improved by fourth period after three consecutive classes which had ended in catastrophe. It appeared that her students had lost all common sense and after she had re-transplanted two pony-tails and a set of ears back onto their respective owners she was seething. So when she entered her classroom after lunch to find Draco Malfoy sitting on his desk laughing cruelly having taken Hannah Abbot's satchel, she was suitably irritated. He didn't notice Minerva step inside and she slammed the door behind her with a resounding ' _bang'_ that shook the door in its hinges. Malfoy's face went ashen as she waved her own wand, returning Hannah's satchel while simultaneously causing Malfoy to rise from his desk and dangle several inches above the ground. He looked at her, eyes full of apprehension as she marched toward him. They were now at eye-level and she glared at him for several moments before speaking.

'Mr. Malfoy," she said through gritted teeth. "If I ever see you behaving in such a manner, in my class or elsewhere, then have no doubt what I do to you will outshine Professor Moody's ferret-transformation by a _significant_ amount. Do I make myself clear?"

Malfoy glared at her, his grey eyes malicious. "I'll have your job for this."

Minerva laughed harshly. "By all means, Mr. Malfoy, do tell your father. I haven't seen the board of governors for some time. It should be a lovely reunion."

There was muffled laughter about the room as Minerva gave Malfoy a chilling smile and marched to the front room. "Continue where you left off," she called, seating herself comfortably.

She retrieved the third-years homework she had collected that morning with the intention of starting marking. She was mid-way through the first paragraph when a small cough interrupted her. Minerva glanced up to find Tracey Davis with her hand raised tentatively in the air.

"Yes?" Minerva asked, somewhat irritated. "Draco, Professor," Tracey said quickly. "He ..."

"Oh, yes." Minerva flicked her wand, releasing the charm and Malfoy fell to the floor in a heap, cursing loudly. "Twenty points from Slytherin for language, Mr. Malfoy," Minerva said lazily, looking back to her marking. "And fifty for your earlier conduct."

"But ..." Malfoy started.

"Don't make me take it to 100," Minerva warned, peering over the frames of her glasses.

Draco looked as if he wanted to say something that would keep both him and his future children in detention for the rest of their school days, but desisted and sat down behind his desk. Minerva returned to her marking but soon pushed that to the side and began to write the inevitable letter to Lucius Malfoy explaining _why_ Draco had been punished; for there was no possibility that the blonde Slytherin wouldn't write to 'Daddy dearest'.

Her shoulders slumped as she wrote the first three words.

_To Lucius Malfoy …_

_-o-_

REVISED: 6 AUGUST 2011.

**Date: September 28 – 30**


	6. Lunch Meetings and Another Educational Decree.

Minerva wrapped her arms around herself, warding off the chill, as she looked out the window, watching as students third-years and above walked across the grounds to where the carriages awaited. They were laughing amongst each other and Minerva smiled to herself briefly as she remembered the fun she'd had at Hogsmeade when she was at school. She and Marcus would come back from each 'expedition' laden with sweets and tricks to last them until the next Hogsmeade visit. Their fellow students were wary of the two for a week following any Hogsmeade weekend, knowing that both were itching to try out the latest Zonko's product. The Head of Gryffindor turned from the window at the sound of a soft 'knock'. She waved at Godric and the door swung open to reveal Severus who looked anything but happy.

"Severus," Minerva greeted, smiling at her Slytherin counterpart. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Severus crossed the room and sat down, not returning her smile. Minerva leant against the windowsill, waiting for him to speak. The Head of Slytherin rarely came to her rooms, it was generally she who would go down to the dungeons and drag him out of his chambers.

"I received a letter from Lucius Malfoy," he said after some time, rubbing his temples with one hand. "Apparently you assaulted his precious son."

Minerva raised an eyebrow. "Do you want the actual truth or my version of the truth?"

Severus smiled, though it seemed strained. "He's a powerful man, Minerva," he said, looking at her intently. "He could make your life difficult, and I'm not speaking about with the school governors."

Minerva tilted her head to one side and folded her arms across her chest. "I'm not afraid of Lucius Malfoy, Severus."

"I'm not worried about him, Minerva," Severus said, rising to his feet and walking across the room until he stood in front of her. "I'm worried about those he has connections with. It's only a matter of time before the Dark Lord frees his supporters in Azkaban; those supporters which are most loyal to him. And you know that he will try and… remove those who come against him or his followers."

Minerva snorted derisively. "You think the Dark Lord will come after me because I threatened Lucius Malfoy's son?"

"No!" Severus said urgently, reaching forward and grasping her shoulders tightly. "I think that he will go after those he feels threatened by; and Lucius will no doubt bend the truth a little to get rid of anyone who insults him or his family. You're already known in the Wizarding world to be powerful; once Lucius Malfoy has added his two cents worth the Dark Lord will certainly seek to kill you!"

As Severus spoke, his grip on her shoulders grew tighter until it was downright painful and Minerva glared at him until he let go.

"I appreciate your concern, Severus, but I can handle myself."

She tried to move past him but Severus blocked her path. "Listen to me, Minerva," he said slowly and deliberately. "You are one of the highest ranking and powerful members of the Order; we cannot afford to lose you. You certainly shouldn't be provoking someone like Lucius Malfoy! It's foolhardy and dangerous. Surely a witch of your intelligence realises that?"

Minerva glared at him for several moments before pulling her gaze away, choosing instead to look over his shoulder at the wall opposite.

"I understand what you're saying, Severus," she admitted grudgingly. "I'll try and curb my temper." Severus nodded and stepped backward. "Good."

The Head of Gryffindor said nothing and continued to look at the wall rather than at him; she hated admitting she was wrong. She tensed as Severus suddenly pulled her toward him and into a very brief embrace before releasing her.

"I'm sorry, Minerva," he said, resting a hand on her shoulder. "I didn't want to be so harsh but you need to understand…" "And I do, Severus," Minerva cut in. "Perfectly."

The two stood awkwardly, Minerva still not looking at Severus. After a few strained moments, the Head of Slytherin exited her chambers, leaving Minerva alone. She eventually turned and looked back out the window. Minerva knew that Severus was right and she loathed that, not for the first time, the Slytherin had brought her back down from, what he had dubbed, 'her self-made pedestal'.

The first war had been the same; in any battle where she would prefer to duel from the outset, he would pull her back to study their opponents' movements and discover their weakness. Battles were few in the first war; more-often-than-not the Death Eaters attacked small groups. This eventually worked to the Light's advantage; they learnt that the Lestranges' were sadistic and lingered slightly longer than was necessary to inflict more agony upon their victims, Lucius Malfoy was overly flamboyant, wasting time with fancy wand movements whilst Dolohov and Nott rarely bothered to duel, preferring to hide in the shadows and use 'Avada Kedavra'.

A shiver ran down Minerva's spine, as often happened when she thought back to the first war. It had been she who discovered first-hand just how sadistic the Lestranges were. She and a fellow Order member, Alexandra Causton, had fought against the two, and lost. Alexandra, like the Longbottoms, was tortured into insanity, whilst Minerva, unable to move due to the total body-bind she was under, was forced to watch. Afterward, when she'd been rescued and forced to stay in the Hospital Wing (Poppy understood that she would never consent to remain in St. Mungo's and had brought her back to Hogwarts), she'd told Severus who'd immediately alerted the Order.

It was due to this information that Rodolphus Lestrange now walked with a permanent limp.

Minerva closed her eyes for several moments, forcing _those_ memories into the farthest corner of her mind. When she opened them she found the Hogwarts grounds empty, the students having left for Hogsmeade. Her eyes fell on Hagrid's cabin and her lips pursed; the Order had not heard from the Hogwarts Gamekeeper for several weeks now. He was due back for the start of term and whilst Minerva had begun to worry after a mere two days, Dumbledore still simply smiled and told her not to worry. Minerva's brow knitted slightly as she remembered what Severus had said only a few weeks ago.

" _It's for the greater good…"_

Minerva made a noise in her throat. She and Dumbledore were quite close; after he'd first noticed her aptitude for Transfiguration he became a mentor of sorts, and their student/teacher relationship had turned to friendship when she'd graduated. The two were alike in many respects, but Minerva had never been able to allow one bad event to happen, even if it caused a 'greater good' in the future. No, she always left that to Albus. Her somber thoughts were broken when she heard a floorboard creak and she surreptitiously reached for her wand, ready to duel.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Minerva whirled around, glaring about her apparently empty chambers whilst simultaneously flicking her wand so the portrait swung shut with a resounding 'bang.'

"Lupin!" she hissed angrily.

The werewolf materialized from seemingly nowhere from beneath an invisibility cloak, looking suitably abashed. "Sorry," he said, giving a half-grin.

Minerva rolled her eyes. "What do you want?"

"That was some telling-off from Snape," Remus said, ignoring her question.

The Head of Gryffindor's eyes narrowed. "No more than I deserved," she said. "I was being an idiot."

Remus's eyebrows shot upward. "You're anything but an idiot, McGonagall," he chided. "Don't be so harsh on your…" "Oh, don't try and humour me," Minerva snapped. "I'm old enough to realize when I am in the wrong."

"McGonagall," Remus said defensively. "I was just trying to…"

"I know what you were trying to do," Minerva interrupted, holding up a hand. "And it's very sweet, but unnecessary."

Remus smiled as he nodded. "Okay."

"Back to my original question, though," Minerva said as she put her wand back in her pocket. "What do you want? Does the Order need me?"

"No," Remus said, shaking his head. "I just thought that you might like to get out of the castle. Have lunch with me." The Head of Gryffindor blinked. "Come again?"

"Have lunch with me," he repeated. "Apparently you've been working yourself to the ground, more than usual, that is; just come and have lunch. I do have some information for you, anyway, but…"

"I can't just leave, Lupin…"

"Yes, you can," the werewolf interrupted. "Come on, McGonagall. Take some time out and come to lunch with me." Minerva said nothing for several moments until: "All right."

_-o-_

"Tell me you're joking," Minerva said, wiping the corner of her mouth with her napkin.

Remus had taken her to a Muggle restaurant outside London where they would be granted anonymity and could speak freely.

"No," Remus said, shaking his head. "Voldemort has been recruiting left, right and centre. Of course, it doesn't help that many people sympathise with his views…"

"How do they know that he's returned?" Minerva asked. "I thought the Wizarding world was in denial?"

"Most are," Remus affirmed. "But there is Lucius Malfoy among others who hold a great deal of influence. They find people who they believe would be good Death Eaters. After some time, they take them to meet Voldemort who, being an accomplished Legilimens, looks into their minds to see if they would make loyal followers. If he believes them to be loyal, they are initiated into the Death Eater ranks; if not, then he kills them."

Minerva exhaled deeply. "Good grief," she muttered. "Yes," agreed Remus. "It's certainly frightening."

"What are we going to do?" Minerva asked, not expecting an answer. "Fight," Remus said simply.

Minerva nodded as she pushed her plate away from her. "Indeed."

Remus reached forward and placed a hand atop hers, looking at her intently. "Are you okay, McGonagall?" he asked softly. "Or has that… woman been harassing you?"

The Head of Gryffindor gave a short and humourless laugh. "She's evil, Lupin. A psychopath; how can you _truly_ win against a psychopath? The only way is to kill them."

Remus said nothing and Minerva kept talking, the words tumbling out of her mouth. "She's _maiming_ children, _children._ And her puritan values rival You-Know-Who's."

The werewolf rolled his eyes. "His name is 'Voldemort', McGonagall. You know that by fearing the name…"

"You increase the fear of the person," Minerva said, finishing his sentence. "Yes, I do know, Lupin. But I'm not about to change the habit of a lifetime."

Remus remained silent, his hazel eyes looking at her in a manner which, in another man, could be seen as appraisal. Minerva returned his gaze, noting the increased number of lines at the corner of his eyes. She knew that Dumbledore had sent him on a number of dangerous missions and they were beginning to take their toll. She would be speaking to Albus about granting Lupin a short rest… an argument that was sure to be explosive.

"You said that Umbridge's puritan values rival Voldemort's?" Remus said, leaning forward and breaking the silence between them. "Is there a chance that she is working for him, or under the Imperius Curse?"

The Head of Gryffindor paused before she spoke, choosing her words carefully. "She's definitely evil enough to be working for You-Know-Who, but no, I don't think she is. However, she is a very dangerous sociopath who should be locked away."

"Ah."

"I don't know how I'm meant to deal with this woman, Lupin," Minerva said, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "My initial reaction is to curse her into oblivion, but that's hardly appropriate."

Remus shook his head, smirking. "No," he said, in a mock-serious tone. "I don't recommend you do that."

Minerva threw her hands up in the air, earning herself started glances from the other patrons at the restaurant. "Then I'm damned. Damned."

"You are not, McGonagall," Remus said, reaching forward and resting his hand over her own. "Just keep a lid on that temper of yours."

"You're right," Minerva admitted, giving him a grin. "Though it's much harder than it sounds."

"I don't doubt it," Remus said, rising to his feet. "I need to go," he explained, upon seeing her expression. "I'll go and pay…"

Minerva fixed him with a glare. "Don't you dare."

Remus shrugged. "I don't dare," he said giving her an impish grin. "But the next lunch is on me." "Deal."

He left the restaurant and Minerva looked at his now empty seat, suddenly feeling more isolated than she ever had in her life. She and Remus had always been close, even at school where she was his confidante. A smile played on the corners of her mouth as she remembered the day of Remus's graduation. There had been the usual end-of-school ball and she had been speaking with Dumbledore when Remus had approached and asked her to dance.

" _So, have you thought about what you're going to do now you've graduated?"_

" _The usual things, Professor; go crazy, pick up girls… you know."_

The Head of Gryffindor shook her head slightly in amusement as she remembered their conversation, which in hindsight had been completely ridiculous.

" _Pick up girls?"_

" _Yeah, how's this for a pick-up line: the name's Lupin, Remus Lupin."_

From that night onward, Minerva had always called Remus 'Lupin' and she found that she had become 'McGonagall.' No one else knew the reason why the two only referred to each other by their surname and she was willing to bet that would never change. Minerva brought herself back to the present; the Remus who had sat opposite her just now was so very different to the shy boy who had spoken of 'going crazy.' He looked so very _tired…_

"Madame? Is there anything else I can get you?"

Minerva looked at the waiter who now held hers and Remus' plates in his hands. Her eyes flicked to Remus' seat and she nodded.

"A glass of Merlot."

_-o-_

It was mid-afternoon when Minerva returned to Hogwarts and she loosened her scarf as she entered her chambers, throwing it onto the table. She turned as she began to take off her coat and immediately froze.

"Weasley?" she asked sharply. "What are you doing in my chambers _without_ permission? Just because I am assisting you, does _not_ mean you can just walk in here without my knowledge-"

Her voice had risen steadily to a shout and Fred leapt to his feet and placed his hand over her mouth.

"Quiet!" he hissed. "Umbridge is just around the corner and if you yell and she comes running then we'll both have a lot of explaining to do. And it will be embarrassing for both you and me; do you really want that woman finding a male student in your chambers? On the weekend?"

Minerva batted his hand away angrily but took his words to heart. "Fine," she said, taking a step back from him. She shrugged off her coat and threw it onto the table. "What did you want to talk to me about?" she asked, leaning against the armrest of the sofa.

"Hermione's idea," he answered, sitting back down on the sofa and turning towards her. "A bunch of us met at the Hog's Head and we've got members for a defence association. I don't know when the first meeting is going to be.'"

Minerva froze. She'd completely forgotten about Miss Granger's plan, her mind instead focused on Order activities and managing Umbridge. Minerva's breath caught in her throat. Umbridge… if she ever discovered Hermione's idea, there was no telling what she would do. Especially if Harry was teaching the defence association, that alone would warrant greater punishment than she'd already inflicted. The image of Fred's disfigured hand, with the words 'I must not undermine the High Inquisitor' engraved into his flesh rose; the blood quill was bad enough… Minerva was willing to bet that a sociopath like Dolores Umbridge could easily increase the depravity of her punishments. The picture of Fred's hand dissolved to be replaced with other grotesque pictures, each more horrific than the last as Minerva's mind went into overdrive. Thumbscrews to find out the names of the other members of the group, whippings carried out by Filch… even the Cruciatus Curse.

"Professor McGonagall?" Fred said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Are you all…?" "Fred," Minerva said urgently. "You need to stop this association. Now. Please." "What?" the red-head said, pulling his hand back. "No, I can't do that…"

"Please," Minerva interrupted. She pushed herself away from the armrest and looked upward at Weasley. A recent growth spurt had seen him shoot upwards to above six foot; though it was doubtful he'd grow any further. "Please," she repeated softly, reaching forward and resting both her hands on his shoulders. "It's too dangerous…"

Fred stepped backward and her arms fell down to her sides. "It's dangerous anyway, Professor," he said firmly. "At least this way we'll be able to defend ourselves…"

"By learning defence from a fifteen-year-old?" Minerva snapped.

"Harry knows more about defense than most seventh-years, Professor. He's _fought_ You-Know-Who…"

Minerva glared upward; an oddly resolute look flickered across Fred's face before his expression became carefully blank. In her long teaching career that meant that student in question had no intention of stopping what they were doing and would go on ahead, for whatever reason. This suspicion was confirmed when Fred jutted his chin forward and thrust his shoulders back, fully prepared to argue.

"Fine," she snapped, knowing a lost cause when she saw one. She spun on her heel and took a seat on the sofa. "If you're going to do this then you need to put up a few safe-guards. I cannot be seen to help you directly and I refuse to be sacked because of a few adolescent's lack of ability to abide by rules, but I can give you a few pointers."

Fred's mouth had fallen open at some point but he nodded nevertheless and sat down opposite, his interest piqued. "Where did you meet?" Minerva demanded.

"At the Hog's Head... was that a bad thing?" he asked when she closed her eyes, cursing Hermione's inability to think as anything _other_ than a noble Gryffindor. The girl, as much as Minerva hated to admit it, needed a good dose of Slytherin.

"A place where it's quiet and you could speak freely?" Fred nodded, obviously confused.

"Where you can be heard easily?"

"Ah-" Fred said, comprehension dawning.

"Yes, 'ah'," Minerva said curtly, "I give Dolores 48 hours to find out about this and act how she thinks is appropriate." "That long, huh?"

Minerva glared, not finding this remotely amusing.

"Tell me when the next meeting is and where," she snapped, disproportionally irritated, "the door is that way." Fred rose to his feet, knowing she was not in the mood for disobedience, though paused at the doorway. "Professor?"

She glared, not bothering with speech.

"I heard some interesting things from Alex Bradley and Roger Davies this week," he said, an impish grin pulling at his lips. "Something about a bludger, a beater's bat and a rather alluring nightgown?"

Sparks flew from Minerva's wand, despite it being some six foot away from its owner. Fred – wisely – bolted from her chambers as if the hounds of hell were at his heels.

_-o-_

The Head of Gryffindor woke up on Monday to loud banging on her door. Leaping out of bed she sprinted into the living room at the same time as Fred Weasley stormed inside, holding a large piece of parchment in his fist. Minerva stopped in her tracks as he marched toward her and pushed the notice into her hands.

"You were wrong," he snarled, "it only took her 36 hours. This damn thing was up before George and I were out of bed."

Minerva smoothed out the crumpled parchment and began to read. Her eyes widened as they scanned the overly ornate writing, ignoring Fred as he paced before her, muttering under his breath and gesticulating at nothing in particular. Well, she couldn't say she was surprised, Minerva admitted, as she scrunched the parchment into a ball and threw it into the file where it belonged.

"I mean," Fred was saying when she began to listen again, "this is just going too far. The Defence Association, yes, but this includes _quidditch_ teams."

Minerva's head shot upward.

"I thought that might get your attention," Fred said smugly, "Angelina's gone spare, speaking of-" He stopped talking as there was more frenzied knocking at her door. Really, Minerva thought as she stalked over to the portrait, this was getting ridiculous. Usually students came to her when in _dire_ need; at the moment she had them coming over as if she were their 'cool older cousin' they visited whenever they wished. "Yes, Miss Johnson?" she began as she opened the door. "What can-?"

"The new Ministry Decree," Angelina gasped through great gulps of air (she appeared to have sprinted all the way from the Gryffindor common room) "it includes _quidditch teams_ , quidditch teams!"

She stopped short when she saw Fred sitting on the sofa looking thoroughly amused by the entire situation.

"And Umbridge won't let the Gryffindor quidditch team reform, you know that!" Angelina continued, apparently ignoring Fred's presence. "And-"

"I'll speak with Professor Umbridge," Minerva interrupted, placing a calming hand on Johnson's shoulder, "everything will be … _oof!_ "

The wind was knocked from Minerva's lungs as Angelina leapt forward, enveloped her in a tight embrace, realised _who_

she was hugging and jumped away as if burned.

"Thank you, Professor," she said, turning and rushing toward the portrait hole. "I'll be going-" And she was gone in a swirl of braids and black.

Minerva said nothing (she couldn't as she was severely winded) but managed a fearsome glare as Fred, unsuccessfully, held back laughter. Scowling, she pointed at the door.

He didn't need to be told (in a manner of speaking) twice.

_-o-_

As Minerva stalked toward Dolores Umbridge's office, she found herself wondering if she would ever eat breakfast at the staff table at any point during the term; or would she find herself either eating in her chambers, in the staffroom, or just not at all for the next nine weeks? The thought was reprehensible. She _liked_ eating at the staff table; it was a chance to anguish with her colleagues about the degenerating state of the school, to-. She stopped mid-way through her inner lamentations as she stepped into Umbridge's office and found herself, as always happened when she crossed the threshold, wanting to kick something... anything... so long as it caused destruction of some sort.

"Yes, Minerva?" Umbridge said, drawing Minerva away from her increasingly morbid thoughts.

"You're not letting the Gryffindor quidditch team reform," Minerva said succinctly, seeing no need for pleasantries. "No, I'm not," Dolores agreed, a slack smile spreading over her toad-ish features.

Minerva resisted the urge to thump her and leant against the wall instead, folding her arms over her chest, and drumming her fingers against her thigh.

"You've let the Slytherin team reform," she said, her voice hardening.

"Yes," Umbridge admitted. "One never does quite stop supporting their house."

Minerva's hand clenched into a fist; the tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife. "I am _asking_ you to allow the Gryffindor quidditch team to reform," she said, her eyes narrowing.

"And I'm _telling_ you that I won't until I have deliberated their case."

The Head of Gryffindor slammed her fist against the wall, causing Umbridge to jump in her chair. The air thrummed with unbridled magic and one of the horrendous porcelain kittens on Dolores's desk exploded into pieces. Umbridge looked from what was left of the feline ornament to Minerva who glared back, every muscle in her body tense.

"I suggest that you rethink that decision," Minerva warned.

Her voice was scarce above a whisper but she knew that Umbridge could hear every word. The other woman had paled dramatically and she swallowed nervously but jutted her chin forward.

"Goodbye, Professor McGonagall," she said eventually, shuffling the parchment before her. "My decision stands."

Minerva closed her eyes for a brief moment. "Are you really going to make me take this to Dumbledore," she asked, making her distaste clear.

Umbridge paused mid-way through scrawling her signature on a document of some kind. "You know what, Minerva? I believe I am."

"Fine," Minerva snapped, pushing herself from the wall, "fine."

She stormed out of the office, causing a group of first-years to run in the other direction, and marched toward the Great Hall. It was hopefully early enough to catch the last of breakfast or, at the very least, find Albus before he had gone to god- knows-where.

Sure enough...

"Professor McGonagall, what on earth is the matter?"

In less than a minute the Headmaster was up-to-speed and a further thirty seconds later (he seemed to realise teasing was _not_ a good idea while she was in her current mood) the Gryffindor quidditch team had permission to reform, as well as the quidditch pitch booked for the next week to the exclusion of the other teams.

Marginally more happy, Minerva headed towards her first class. Maybe today wouldn't be too bad after all...

_-o-_

She was wrong.

The Charms and Transfigurations hall was, as a rule, reasonably quiet; occasionally there were bursts of poorly aimed charms from Flitwick's classroom, but generally, it was silent.

Not so today.

Minerva suppressed the want to curse each and every student as she stood in the centre of chaos. Animals of every sort were scurrying about (she could see a stoat, a ferret, a weasel, badger and what she thought was a baboon) while the other eight members of the class _not_ transfigured into animals were pressed against the far wall as their friends ran riot.

"THAT'S IT!" she bellowed, barely noticing Pomona Sprout as she came around the corner and peeked into the classroom. "BE STILL, ALL OF YOU!"

With a flick of her wand, all animals were returned to their human state, and Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws alike picked themselves off the floor. All visibly quailed at the sight of Minerva who placed her hands on her hips and glared at each in turn.

"A four-foot essay on where you went wrong during the incantation, how to fix it, and how to do it properly," she managed through gritted teeth, "now go, just... go."

There was much pushing and shoving as the students, both male and female, tried to squeeze through the narrow doorway first. Minerva watched them like a wrathful eagle, not moving until the last student had left the room.

"Oh, shut it," Minerva snapped as Pomona opened her mouth to say something, inevitably a 'witty' comment about her current less-than-immaculate state.

Perhaps it was her sharp tone, or perhaps it was that even Pomona Sprout could not bring herself to taunt someone who was currently vanishing feathers from her classroom; whatever it was, Pomona shut her mouth and waited until Minerva had finished before speaking.

"I thought you might like to come to my chambers for a drink?" the Herbology Professor said, taking in Minerva's dishevel led appearance. "It looks like you need it."

The Deputy Headmistress sighed. "That is the most sensible thing I have heard all day..."

* * *

## Dates: October 5 – 8

**REVISED 6 AUGUST 2011**


	7. Weasels and Bumblebees

A week later found Minerva marking the obscene pile of homework she'd let accumulate over the past few days. She looked down at essay she had just pulled toward her; Miss Hannah Abbott. Minerva suppressed a groan; whilst Hannah was a lovely girl and a true credit to Hogwarts, her Transfigurations skills left quite a bit to be desired. She rubbed her temples as she began reading Hannah's oversize writing. Five minutes and a mere half-a-page later, she was seriously contemplating going to bed when there was a 'knock' at the door. Presuming it to be Severus, who occasionally visited her at this hour, she flicked her wand and opened the door. Minerva started at the sound of George Weasley's voice.

"Hey, Professor."

The Head of Gryffindor knocked over an ink bottle as she turned and fixed the Weasley twins with a glare. He smiled apologetically.

"Sorry about that," George said, gesturing at the ink puddle which was slowly but surely spreading over Hannah Abbott's homework.

"Well, uh, Fred tells me you know about 'Dumbledore's Army'," George said quickly. "And…"

"We've had two meetings, now," Fred cut in, now standing beside his twin. "We did ' _Expelliarmus'_ , at the first meeting, Harry said that it's a useful spell, and it is quite simple…"

Minerva nodded as she rose to her feet and crossed to the kitchenette. The twins, she noticed, had sat themselves down as if this were a regular occurrence. Something that was, Minerva realised with a slight sense of dread, fairly accurate.

Still, she mused as she fished around the cupboard for cocoa and milk, the damage was already done so... "That's true," she agreed, fishing around in the cupboard for cocoa and milk. "Hot chocolate?"

Both twins nodded, leaning back and making themselves more comfortable. "And we did Shielding Charms this meeting," George said. "Again, they're simple but Harry said that they're useful too."

"Uh huh," Minerva said flicking her wand so a stream of hot milk poured from her wand into three mugs.

"So… it is pretty good, then?" Fred asked, tracing patterns on his leg. "We thought that maybe you should focus on attack whilst duelling. You know, 'the best form of defence is attack.'"

Minerva shrugged as she levitated three mugs of hot chocolate to the coffee table where they sat themselves down in front of the two brothers. "One can also argue that the best form of attack is defence. It really depends on the individual."

"Right," George said. "I sort of get that." "What do _you_ prefer?" Fred asked, butting in.

The Deputy Headmistress shrugged again. "It depends on the circumstances. In a large duel, is it logical to curse everything around you and draw attention to yourself _or_ judge your every movement and curse when necessary?"

"The latter," George answered.

"Exactly," Minerva approved. "However, what about if in that same large duel, you get cornered? Are you going to fire off individual curses or are you going to 'release the throttle' and blast your opponents with every spell in your repertoire?"

"I'd blast them," George said.

Minerva raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't apparate behind them and continue the duel on _your_ terms?"

Colour flooded to George's cheeks. "I didn't think of that."

The Head of Gryffindor waved a dismissive hand as she blew on her hot chocolate. "Are you two going to tell me why you're _really_ here?" she asked, taking a sip. "I can't imagine that you want to be debating the best way to duel with your Transfiguration Professor."

Both twins blushed.

"We also wanted to give you this," Fred said, digging into the bag that had been slung over his shoulder. Minerva raised her eyebrows as she took the out-stretched firework and examined it from end-to-end. "You shouldn't have?" she quipped drily, placing the firework carefully on the table.

"It's from our first batch," George explained, "we thought the woman who gave the idea for _'infragilis'_ should at least be given one firework."

The Head of Gryffindor smiled a rare smile. "Thank you."

Fred and George said nothing further and the three lapsed into a surprisingly comfortable silence. One which Minerva broke when she glanced at the clock above the mantle.

"You and I both have classes," she said, draining the rest of her cocoa, "you need to go."

The twins seemed reluctant to leave and the Head of Gryffindor gave a theatrical yawn and shooed them toward the door. They both rolled their eyes, but left her chambers without further protest. Now alone, Minerva flicked her wand, washing the three mugs and banishing them back into the cupboard. She rose and crossed the room and sat down at her desk. Hannah Abbott's homework stared upward at her; she covered it with an empty sheet of paper and rested her elbow against the desk. She cupped her chin with her hand and stared out over the Hogwarts' grounds. A shard of light streaming out from the Greenhouses showed that Pomona was still awake, probably fitting jerseys onto the latest exotic plant she had managed to cultivate. Minerva laughed to herself; she respected Herbology, indeed she had received Outstanding on her NEWTS exam, but she didn't kid herself that she had the knack that Pomona seemed to have when it came to plants. Minerva had read the Herbology textbook religiously, and followed the instructions within to the letter; Pomona on the other hand had paid no attention to the textbook or their Professor for that matter, instead relying on her intuition.

The light disappeared, leaving the grounds black and Minerva looked away, focusing on the small plant on her desk that Pomona had brought her last year; small and dainty, it looked plain until one looked closely and saw the intricate patterns on its leaves and the small bursts of vibrant colour. Minerva reached out and touched one of the leaves with her index finger. Instantly a shot of red flew out from the leaf, looping and twirling so it made patterns in the air. One second she fancied she could see a bird flying through the air, whilst the next she swore that a fairy was skipping about her rooms. Minerva reached out and the stream of light flew into her outstretched hand which then shone an incandescent red.

" _Recrudescei."_

The light streamed back into the leaf and vanished. Minerva reached out again, wanting to release another burst of light but as her fingers came within millimetres of another leaf she paused and retracted her hand. It didn't pay to get distracted. She sighed and turned her attention, reluctantly, back to Hannah Abbott's essay.

_-o-_

Minerva awoke early the next day at her writing desk, her cheek resting against the pile of homework. She groaned as she sat upright and immediately squeezed her eyes shut as the rays of the early morning sun struck her directly in the eyes.

"Urgh…"

The Head of Gryffindor clasped her hands together and pushed outward as she arched her back, cracking the vertebrae from the base of her spine upward. Feeling marginally more awake she stood up and twisted her torso, releasing another series of 'cracks' which echoed through her otherwise silent chambers.

Minerva glanced at her watch; five thirty. Why on earth was she up at this ungodly hour? Shaking her head and cursing her body's in-built alarm clock she rose to her feet and made to walk to the kitchenette. She had taken two steps when a flurry of movement caught her eye and she looked out the window to see six familiar figures on brooms grudgingly flying about. She grinned slightly as the Gryffindor Quidditch team (minus one Harry Potter who appeared to have forgone practice) flew about the stadium, weaving through the air easily as they passed the Quaffle to each other. Fred and George were hitting bludgers toward each other, and she felt a surge of pride at the team's skill. The three chasers worked together seamlessly, Ronald Weasley was certainly improving and ... well, Fred and George seemed to have a telepathic connection, rather like herself and Marcus.

_Marcus_...

Her smile faltered as she remembered her brother's cocky grin as he imitated her on his broomstick, 'flicking' his hair over his shoulder in a parody of her own actions. Minerva had hit a bludger toward him on that particular occasion, breaking his nose, much to her amusement, and his chagrin. The two had been on the Gryffindor Quidditch team since their second year, his muscular frame giving power, whilst she had deadly accuracy. Much like Fred and George, Minerva mused as she watched the two Weasleys play. She walked to the window, looking out over the school grounds. At the beginning of her tenure, she had requested to be able to see the Quidditch pitch. She had cited 'professional obligations' as her excuse, which, despite Albus' skepticism was reasonably accurate as she could call Poppy lest she observe an accident; however, in reality she simply loved watching the game.

Her attention was diverted when Fred saw her and gave a cheeky grin. She raised her hand in a small wave, which he surreptitiously returned before diving toward the ground as a bludger shot toward Angelina. With eerie clarity, she watched as the bludger was pelted off course, missing Angelina by inches. However, Fred had over-extended his arm, and the change in body position caused him to lose balance and he fell slowly to the ground, landing heavily on the grass. The other members of the quidditch team congregated around him, and Ron and George hefted Fred upward and made their way slowly inside. Minerva felt slightly nauseous, Fred's plummet to hard earth had appeared painful, even from her higher vantage point, and she hurried across the room and threw powder into the fireplace, calling 'Hospital Wing.' In a swirl of emerald flame she reappeared in the sterile ward and hurried toward Poppy's chambers which adjoined the wing.

Her friend was sleeping soundly and was less-than-pleased when Minerva shook her roughly and refused to wake. Minerva eventually resorted to _'augamenti'_ and the stream of water hit Poppy between the eyes.

"Min, what...?" she growled, rubbing her eyes and brushing her sopping hair from her forehead.

"Fred Weasley's taken a tumble," Minerva explained quickly, flicking her wand to dry Poppy's hair. "I saw it from my window; it didn't look too good."

Poppy snorted and rose to her feet, muttering under her breath about 'barbaric sports' and 'broomsticks and children never mixing well.' Minerva placed a hand at the small of her friend's back, pushing her firmly toward the chamber door and Poppy swatted her, looking outraged.

"Minerva!"

"Move along, Poppy!" the Head of Gryffindor retorted.

The medi-witch gave her a look that would quell a lesser person, but Minerva merely raised an eyebrow and gestured for her to hurry up. Poppy did so, now muttering about 'the audacity of Gryffindors' and 'rude Scots'. The two women exited Poppy's chambers at the same time that Fred, George and Ronald Weasley stepped inside. Ronald looked somewhat surprised by Minerva's presence, but George gave her a slight smile as the two placed Fred on the nearest bed.

"How far did he fall?" Poppy demanded, crossing the room and leaning over Fred's unconscious figure. "About thirty feet," Minerva answered, before Ron or George could say anything.

Poppy asked no further questions, merely nodding and taking Fred's temperature whilst she summoned a variety of potions toward her, catching them out of mid-air. Minerva, George and Ron watched anxiously, and she looked upward, eyes narrowed.

"You two go and have breakfast, I imagine Professor McGonagall, as Fred's Head of House will be more than happy to stay."

Ron nodded and left almost immediately, though George lingered. Minerva looked up, and crossed toward him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I'll get you if there's any news," she said gently. George shook his head. "I'll wait till he comes around."

Poppy looked as if she was going to protest, but Minerva shot her a warning look. Recognising a losing battle when she saw one, Poppy flicked her wand, conjuring two chairs from mid-air. George smiled gratefully and the two sat down as the school nurse tipped various potions down Fred's throat. Before their eyes, the bruises on his face vanished, and his arm which had been bent at an awkward angle righted itself. Beside her, George gave a sigh of relief and Minerva herself felt a weight come off her shoulders. Poppy nodded to herself and went back to her chambers, presumably to dress. Several minutes past until Fred woke, coughing as he sat upright. His eyes darted about the room, falling first on Minerva and then on his twin.

"Professor, George, what ...?" he began.

George reached forward and whacked Fred lightly at the back of his head. "Kindly _do not_ do that again," he said sternly, trying and failing to mask his relief that his twin was okay.

"George!" Minerva said sharply. "He could have a concussion ..."

"He does not," Poppy said as she strode back into the wing, now attired in her usual robes. "That was one of the first things I checked for."

George shot Minerva a triumphant grin.

"I do want to keep you in until this afternoon, however," the medi-witch continued.

Fred groaned loudly and fell back into the pile of pillows he quickly conjured. "But, Madam Pomfrey..." he protested.

"No, 'buts'," Poppy interrupted. "Now, Mr. Weasley," she said, turning to George. "You need not be by your brother's bedside so I suggest you run along to breakfast."

George glared at the blonde witch, but she merely raised an eyebrow and he rose to his feet, knowing that arguing would be fruitless. He gave Fred and Minerva a quick grin before exiting the hospital wing, leaving the three alone.

"Well, Minerva," Poppy said sharply. "I suppose you had best go too. I'm sure you have classes..."

The Head of Gryffindor nodded but made no move to get up. Poppy soon left the cubicle and Fred turned toward her, eyebrows raised.

"You got here quick," he said, propping himself up on his elbows.

"I was already awake, I saw you fall from my window," Minerva explained. She rose to her feet and patted his hand. "You seem to be all right…"

"I'm not all right," Fred said seriously, frowning at her.

"You're not?" Minerva said, immediately concerned. "I'll go and get Poppy…"

"That's not what I meant," Fred said, waving a dismissive hand. "I'm not all _right_ , I'm half left."

Minerva looked at him for several moments before rolling her eyes. " _Not_ funny, Fred," she said, though a smile pulled at her lips.

Weasley shrugged. "Not my best," he conceded. "But I'm an invalid at the moment, so cut me some slack."

She laughed and nodded her head. "So be it, Weasley. Now, I'm leaving you, I have classes to prepare for."

She left the hospital wing and walked in the direction of her chambers. She could easily have used the inter-Hogwarts Floo system, but felt that the walk would do her good; she hadn't been getting enough exercise lately. As she turned the corner, another smile graced her face. _Half left…_ it was amusing because of its sheer stupidity. Shaking her head, she hurried down the corridors, still smiling.

_-o-_

The day passed relatively quickly and seven o'clock found Minerva sitting on the windowsill like a leopard lies on a tree. She looked downward, noticing without fear just how high up she was; not that Minerva was overly concerned, she'd never been afraid of heights, another correlation between herself and her Animagus form. Minerva heard footsteps outside in the hall and recognised the sound of Pomona's uneven footsteps. Lately, on a Wednesday, Pomona and/or Rolanda would visit the Head of Gryffindor to 'discuss school affairs' but which was more of an excuse to lament whatever it was Dolores Umbridge had done that grated on their nerves. Last week it had been about when Umbridge had decided to redecorate the staff room and all three women entered to find what had come to be their 'sanctum' over the years covered in pink. The armchairs had pink quilts thrown over them, whilst the usually bare coffee table bore a lacy, pink tablecloth. Thankfully, Severus had just finished a week of midnight patrols and the sight of so much pink had been too much for him to bear and he'd cursed all pink items, leaving only a small amount of ash. He'd been assigned another week of midnight patrols for his actions, but all members of staff had been so grateful for his show of temper that they had split the shifts between them, allowing Severus to have a full night's sleep.

Pomona's uneven footsteps grew louder, and Minerva knew she was drawing close to her chambers. During the 70's, when the Dark Lord rose to power, Pomona had been cornered by Death Eaters and whilst she managed to escape, a _'sectumsempra'_ to her foot ensured she walked with a limp, though to most this was unnoticeable. The Head of Gryffindor turned her head toward the door and flicked her wand. The door unlocked with a 'click' to reveal the Herbology Professor with her hand raised to knock. Pomona's mouth formed an 'o' as she looked at Minerva and her precarious position.

"Minerva, please get down," she pleaded. "You know I hate it when you sit there. I always have visions of you falling."

Minerva rolled her eyes but nevertheless obliged and swung her legs around and leapt from the windowsill, landing cat- like on her feet. "Tea?" she asked, righting herself and gesturing at the kitchenette.

Pomona nodded as she shrugged off her outer robe and threw it unceremoniously over one of the chair backs. Minerva set about making tea and as she placed two mugs on a tray, she looked over to find Pomona slumped on one of the wooden chairs at the kitchen table. She looked so defeated, something Minerva hadn't seen for forty years when Marcus had died. She and the Herbology Professor had been close since their first year at Hogwarts together. Though in different houses, the two shared most classes and though quite different, were uncannily similar in other ways. Pomona and Marcus had also been close, though their relationship changed in their seventh year and they'd started seeing each other 'romantically' (the preferred word of the day for 'dating'). Marcus entered Auror training straight after school, though their relationship continued, with the unspoken knowledge they would marry after he had finished; then November 13th, 1945, came and what had been Minerva and Marcus's birthday became the day of Marcus's death.

The Head of Gryffindor closed her eyes, pushing those painful memories away, only for them to fall into more prescient ones. The Weasley twins, the Weasley family for that matter and their adopted son also-known-as 'The Boy Who Lived.' Harry, this year, had become an outcast from most of society, labelled an 'attention-seeker' and yet there were many who were still prepared to be taught by him, for a war that most knew instinctively lived and would die with him. She swore as she spilt boiling water on her hand. This seemed to bring Pomona out of her torpor and the other woman shook her head sharply as if to bring herself back to the present.

" _She's_ been particularly horrid today," Pomona said, leaning her elbow against the table and cupping her chin. She sounded like her usual chirpy self and already Minerva was beginning to doubt that she had seen her friend's brief show of weakness. " _'Professor Sprout,_ '" she mimicked with uncanny accuracy to Umbridge's sickly sweet voice. " _'I have to say that I am_ rather _surprised that you still teach these children about 'venomous tentacula.' They're rather dangerous, are they not? Not to mention the potential consequences if they were to use one … irresponsibly_.'"

Minerva snorted as she sat down and handed her friend a mug which the Hufflepuff Head placed in front of her. "Dolores is in fine form," she said with a grin.

Her off-hand tone earned her a glare from Pomona who sat back and waved her arms before her. "What does she expect the students are going to do?" she said furiously. "Uproot a colony of 'tentaculas' and release them on the unknowing Wizarding public? She's an idiot!"

"She has a point," Minerva said with mock-seriousness. Pomona looked at her, aghast and Minerva forced herself to keep a straight face as she continued. "There could be a rise of Tentaculas.' They might even give _'inferei'_ a run for their money. 'Death by tentaculai', I can see it now in the Prophet."

Pomona blinked slowly before roaring with laughter. Minerva looked at her quizzically. "Have I said something funny?" she asked, keeping the same serious tone.

The Head of Hufflepuff choked slightly at Minerva's words and it took several moments before she had herself back under control. "I knew that coming to see you would cheer me up," she said, reaching for her tea. "Thank you."

Minerva waved a dismissive hand as she took a sip of her tea. "Not a problem."

The two drank their tea silently, in a companionable silence that only those who have trust each other implicitly can achieve. The silence was broken by Minerva's door flying open and the Weasley twins hurtling inside. George tripped over the rug and Fred fell on top of him, the two landing heavily in the living room. Pomona's mouth fell open and she looked to Minerva who was rising to her feet and crossing the room.

"Care to tell me about the dramatic entrance?" she said, pulling first Fred and then George to their feet.

"Well," Fred gasped, holding his side. He'd apparently been winded during his fall over George. "We were scattering itching powder…"

"On Umbridge's cushion," George continued.

"You know, that revolting pink thing with frills," Fred interjected. "Yeah, that. But Filch walked past and spotted us…"

"We bolted and he ran after us…" "For an old codger he's pretty fast…"

"We were running past here and your door opened…" "Woah! Wait a minute; what the _hell_ is going on?"

Minerva, Fred and George turned to face Pomona who had risen to her feet and was looking at them as if they had beamed in from another planet.

"Minerva," the Hufflepuff Head said, turning her attentions to her. "Please explain this." The Deputy Headmistress bit her bottom lip and gave a nervous smile. "It's complicated." "I don't care," Pomona said stiffly. "Explain this."

Minerva sighed and looked from Fred to George and then back to Pomona. "I've been helping these two with their pranks on the condition that they make Dolores' life as hellish as possible."

Pomona blinked rapidly, obviously taken aback. "You've been helping them?" she managed finally. "Yeah," George interjected. "She helps us with spells and all that."

"Oh."

There was silence for a long time and Minerva waited for an explosion. She may have been small, but Pomona's temper was formidable and the Head of Gryffindor had been at the receiving end of quite a few tongue-lashings over the years. Not that she bowed out of those arguments; the two witches had come close to hexing each other on more than one occasion.

"Right," Pomona said eventually. "I see." She paused again and surveyed the twins who looked stoically back at her. "If you need any plant material, just come and ask."

Minerva's eyebrows shot upwards, something that did not pass Pomona's attention. "What?" she said defensively. "If you can do it, so can I."

The twins nodded sanctimoniously and Minerva shot them a look. "I imagine Filch is long gone," she said, the dismissal clear.

Scowling, the brothers slouched to the door, leaving the two witches by themselves again.

_-o-_

It was almost ten o'clock by the time Pomona left her chambers. Finally alone, Minerva went to her bathroom and showered, emerging feeling clean and refreshed. She was wringing her long hair dry with a towel when she heard a _'whoosh'_ of flames. Puzzled, she hurried into her living room to find Albus dusting ash from his robes.

"Ahh, Minerva," he said, nodding toward her.

She raised her eyebrows in question. "What are you doing here, Albus?" she asked, continuing to dry her hair.

He coughed and she was certain she saw him blush. A quick glance downward made her realize why. In her rush to get to the living room, she had forgotten to throw on her dressing gown leaving her glad only in her nightgown which, whilst not overly revealing, was still far different from her usual attire. Though she and Albus had been friends for many years, he had still never seen her in less than robes or, during the night, in her heavy tartan dressing gown.

"Er, well," he began, steadfastly avoiding looking downward. "I know that you often correspond with Remus Lupin." "Yes," Minerva said. "Nothing's happened to him, has it?" she asked, suddenly worried.

"No, no," Albus assured. "I've sent him on a mission; that is all." Minerva's eyes narrowed. "Have you not seen how tired he is, Albus?"

"It's not overly taxing," Dumbledore said, giving her a small smile which she didn't return. "I just need him to go and talk to a few contacts of mine."

"Can't you do it?" Minerva snapped. "And give Lupin a break? God, Albus. He's mid-thirties and looks about a hundred. All he needs is a short rest."

"I have to see to other matters," Albus said, his eyes hardening. "Which are more important," Minerva finished coldly.

The two sorcerers held each others' gaze, Minerva's grey eyes boring into Albus' until he looked away.

"Anyway," he said, returning to the conversation. "I need you to stop corresponding with him, for a while at least." Minerva stiffened and ground her teeth. "Why?" she asked, though her voice sounded muffled.

"I can't tell you," Albus answered.

The Head of Gryffindor stepped forward until she and her superior were almost nose-to-nose. "Why?"

"I'm not discussing it, Minerva," Albus said, with definite finality in his voice.

He tried to side-step around her but she was quicker and stopped him before he reached the fireplace. "Tell me," she demanded.

Albus drew himself up to his full height. "I can't tell you," he asserted. Minerva felt like slapping him but stopped herself. "Yes, you can."

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, I don't." He shook his head as she opened her mouth to argue. "And as Leader of the Light, I am _ordering_ you to stop questioning me."

As she stood in shock that he would use his position against her, the older wizard stepped past her and disappeared from the room in a burst of green flames. Minerva stared at the now-empty fireplace. She was _furious._ Grinding her teeth, she conjured a vase which she hurled at the wall where it shattered into pieces.

" _Dammit!"_

_-o-_

REVISED 6 AUGUST 2011

**Dates: October 16 - 17**


	8. Dances With Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always thought that JKR left out a huge part of Wizarding life; namely their interaction with 'Muggles.' I think that wizards would have to, at least in part, do this as waving a wand about in a public street isn't particularly subtle and would lead to some fairly interesting questions.  
> I hope you continue to enjoy.  
> Please review.

It was almost a week before Minerva caught a glimpse of the Hogwarts Headmaster. He left notes on her desk every second day so she supposed he _must_ be in the castle but choosing not to see anyone. She glared at the piece of parchment she was looking at but saw nothing on the page. This was _ridiculous,_ leaving her in the lurch like this; how was she meant to run the school efficiently in his absence when its Headmaster was gallivanting around the country?

"May I come in?"

Minerva dropped the piece of parchment she was holding. Framed in the doorway was the very man she had been thinking about, and none too kindly.

"Albus," she greeted curtly.

The tall man strode across the room until he stood opposite her, the desk a physical barrier between them. "I'm afraid that I will have to leave the school for a week," he said. He held up a hand as she opened her mouth to argue. "I will be at today's Order meeting, but as for now, Severus and I have work to do."

Minerva glanced over Dumbledore's shoulder to find the Head of Slytherin leaning against the doorframe. He'd lost even more weight, she noticed, and his eyes were tinged with tiredness.

"Where are you going?" she asked, rising to her feet.

"It's safer if you don't know, Minerva," Albus said softly, looking downward so as not to meet her eyes.

The Scottish witch felt her hands ball into fists as the Headmaster finally looked up. Grey glared into blue for several moments before she spoke.

"I am your second-in-command, Albus. I need to know what's going on."

Dumbledore shook his head adamantly. "Not about this, Minerva. I will tell you in due time, though not now."

She opened her mouth to protest most vociferously, but he held his hand up, quelling further protests.

"No, Minerva. I trust you implicitly. With the school, the students and even my life; but this is something you _cannot_ know."

His words carried compliments, but also a laudatory tone she knew better than to argue with.

"When is the meeting and where?" she asked quietly, tightening the dressing gown around her shoulders.

"This afternoon, at two o'clock. Grimmauld Place," Albus answered, reaching into his robe pocket and withdrawing a thick sheaf of parchment. "Here are the notes you will need. Of course, you're in charge of stratagems..."

"And you'll be away from Hogwarts for one week? That's correct?" Minerva asked, her voice reverting to its usual brusque tone that she called 'professional' and Albus labelled 'school-marm'.

He nodded, looking incredibly uncomfortable. "Yes, which means I need to ask you an important favour."

Minerva raised her eyebrows, the signal to continue.

"Allow Dolores Umbridge more ... lee-way," he said slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. "It's important, Minerva. For the… greater good."

The Head of Gryffindor glared upward at her superior and mentor. She was tall for a woman, but Albus Dumbledore reached well over six-foot which, combined with his lean frame, made him a formidable person to stand up to.

"I will do my _job,_ Albus," she said coldly, not breaking his gaze. "Which is to protect my charges. To do _anything_ less would be a dereliction of the duty I have taken. Something I _will not,_ under _any_ circumstances, be doing. Are we understood?"

"Minerva, there are things more important than ..."

"Then _what_?" Minerva hissed, unconsciously taking a step forward so they were barely a foot apart; their two almost unfathomably powerful auras brushing against the others as irritation and anger grew between them. "Than protecting _children!"_

Behind them both, Severus stepped inside, reaching for his wand if the need arose to intervene; neither sorcerer paid him any mind, their eyes locked with the other's. Minerva could see Albus losing his own considerable composure at her lack of agreement. Around them, a faint crackling could be heard as their opposing magic battled for supremacy.

"This is a _war,_ Minerva!" Albus said tersely, the muscles in his neck tense.

"Not within _these_ walls, it isn't!" Minerva shouted, her temper heating up even as Albus' grew cold with fury. "These walls which you seem to be _neglecting_ at every opportunity!"

"That is _not_ true!"

" _ISN'T IT?"_ Minerva shouted. She felt adrenalin surge through her veins as a wave of hot fury swept over her, a rage and … hatred she hadn't realized she possessed. "Isn't it?" she repeated, speaking in softer tones with great difficultly. "When was the last time you saw Harry, Albus? Or spoke to _any_ of your students? For heaven's sake, this past month you've been away more than you've been here. Leaving _me_ to do the job _you_ are paid for!"

Albus had stiffened as she lashed out at him but as she came to a final snarling halt he inhaled deeply, his entire body shaking. She noticed his hand reach for his wand and whipped out her own. The wizard and witch, both of whom possessed a great deal of magical power held their wands tightly, ready to curse the other. Around them, the air began to buzz with magic, like a swarm of angry bees. The windows smashed as waves of accidental magic literally _pushed_ through them, sending cascades of broken glass plummeting toward the grounds. Minerva was trembling with anger, though she maintained a reasonably level head and with a wave of her hand, the glass returned to its panes. Albus looked down at her, the air between them taunt with tension. They had only argued to this extent once, fourteen years ago, though on that occasion, the resulting explosions had been heard in Hogsmeade. This altercation paled in comparison.

"I will be back in a week, Minerva," Albus said coldly. "We will talk then."

Hogwarts Headmaster spun on his heel and swept out of her chambers, Severus following in his wake. The door slammed shut behind them both and Minerva let out a shriek of fury she was sure echoed through the halls. The _audacity_ of that man, the very _idea_ she would let that woman, that _creature_ control Hogwarts in his absence!

_ Hell will freeze over before I ever allow that. _

_ -o- _

Remus removed her cloak from her shoulders and she gave him an appreciative smile. He ushered her into the dining room of Grimmauld Place.

"Thanks for coming, McGonagall," he said, with a guiding hand in the small of her back.

"It was an order," Minerva said stiffly, sitting next to him at the dining table.

Tonks, Kingsley, Sirius, Severus, Moody and Severus were also seated at the table and she nodded a greeting at all of them. Albus's startling blue eyes held hers for a moment longer than was necessary and she recognized the same cold fury she'd seen hours beforehand. She returned his glare which was only broken when Moody cleared his throat.

"So, a few hours ago we got information from Severus that the werewolves are planning an attack on a number of villages in the near future," he said looking at each Order member in turn.

"Do we know where these attacks will happen?" Kingsley asked, leaning forward. He was dressed in Muggle clothing today and his muscular arms bulged against the cotton material of his shirt.

"No," Moody answered. "This is why we need someone to… infiltrate the pack and discover the locations and exact times."

"Yes," Albus said, taking over from Moody. "Remus, being the most obvious choice, is going to…"

Minerva's eyes widened dramatically. He could not be serious; sending Remus to infiltrate a werewolf pack when they knew full well he was a Light supporter was tantamount to murder. "No," she said, rising angrily to her feet. "You can't, I won't allow this."

"You don't really have a say in the matter, Minerva," Albus said, clenching his jaw. "Remus has agreed to the mission and…"

"He agreed because _you_ asked him," Minerva hissed, the icy thread of cold fury resurfacing. "He may as well commit suicide!"

"McGonagall," Remus said from beside her. "If we can stop these attacks then it's worth it…"

"Worth what?" Minerva snapped, turning to face the werewolf. "Your death? I can't allow it, I won't allow it!"

"Minerva," Albus interrupted. "It's for the greater good…"

"Oh yes!" Minerva scorned, throwing her hands up in the air. "It always is! This famous 'greater good.' You're talking absolute bullshit, Albus!"

It was rare that she swore in public and Albus looked taken aback. Minerva faced the older and more powerful wizard, her shoulders straight and muscles tense.

"Perhaps you should leave, Professor McGonagall," he said after a moment's pause. "You're obviously over-emotional…"

"If I'm over-emotional then you're a bloody iceberg!" Minerva shrieked, losing her composure completely. "You treat _me_ like you would a servant. To you, Lupin is nothing more than a _device,_ Harry is merely a _weapon_. And that's wrong, Albus! We're _human!_ We _feel!_ Can you not _see_ that? You're so wrapped up in the future, in _possibilities,_ that you don't see what's right in front of you!"

She felt a firm hand on her shoulder as Albus stood stiff, with no visible expression on his face.

"McGonagall," she heard Remus say, pulling her into the hall. "Calm down. Come in here..."

Minerva allowed herself to be led into the hall, Remus's grip strong around her shoulders. He took her half-way down the corridor, and turned her to face him. "I won't pretend to know what's going on," he said, almost harshly. "But you need to keep a lid on that temper of yours."

The Head of Gryffindor glared upward at the younger man who topped her by several inches. "I will not let you do this! It's too dangerous."

Remus rolled his eyes and placed his hands on her shoulders. "I'm not a child, McGonagall," he said gently. "Someone needs to go in there, and I am the most obvious choice."

Minerva shook her head. "Please, Lupin," she said softly, looking downward to hide the tears that threatened to fall. She didn't want Remus to go on such a dangerous mission; he was too great a friend… her former student… too good a person to just be thrown, literally, to the wolves. "Don't go. You'll be killed."

The werewolf cupped her chin gently and forced her to look upward. "Minerva," he said gently, using her first name. "This needs to be done, surely you understand that?" A lone tear escaped from her left eye and Remus wiped it away gently and drew her close. "I'll be all right, McGonagall," he whispered into her ear. "I promise."

It was an empty promise, and she knew it but she allowed herself to believe him, for the moment at least.

_ -o- _

The Head of Gryffindor's chambers were cold and dark when she entered hours later. Minerva flung her cloak away from her and it landed in a puddle on the floor. She and Remus had returned to the meeting, where she sat in silence, talking in monosyllables and only when asked. Minerva walked slowly across the room and sat down in one of the armchairs. She curled her feet beneath herself and flicked her wand at the fireplace.

" _Incendio."_

The flickering flames cast an unsteady light through the room and though Minerva could light the candelabras on the walls, she chose not to and sat in darkness as she thought of the mission that Remus was preparing for. He would be meeting the werewolves tonight; with a cock-and-bull story that Minerva was sure they would see straight through. But, Albus thought it could work… and people trusted Albus…

"Minerva?"

The Deputy Headmistress jumped from her seat to face the man who had just entered her chambers.

"Dumbledore," she returned coldly. "I thought you were to be gone for a week?"

He stepped inside and waved his wand. In an instant the candelabras and lamps were lit and the room was bathed in light. Minerva looked at her superior, noticing the extra lines which had appeared at the corners of his eyes.

"Did you truly mean what you said at Grimmauld Place?" he asked, crossing to the centre of the room, a mere six foot from where she was standing.

Minerva took a step backward and straightened, jutting her chin forward. "Is that not the truth?" she retorted.

"I hope not," Albus said softly.

The Head of Gryffindor said nothing, knowing he had not finished.

"I do this to protect you," he continued, moving forward and taking her hands within his. "Surely, you realise that?"

Minerva looked upward. "Keeping us in the dark grants us a sort of ... ignorance, Albus," she said, choosing her words carefully. "But the phrase 'ignorance is bliss' is wrong. I need to know what's going on, to do the job _you_ gave me. A second-in-command needs to be privy to the same information as their leader. But in all reality, I'm irrelevant. It's Harry you need to be truly honest with... the boy _deserves_ to know why the Dark Lord chose him, Albus. The longer you leave it, the harder it will be. You should have told him at eleven, when he first asked."

Albus reached out and grabbed her wrist tightly. "I didn't tell you what happened, did I?" the older wizard said. "The night he came back?"

Minerva shook her head. "No, you said..."

"Let me show you now."

Her brow furrowed, conveying her surprise, but Albus released her wrist, only to hold his hand out to her. "Do you trust me?"

The Deputy Headmistress looked into his startling blue eyes for several moments, before allowing him to entwine his fingers with hers. He smiled, and she caught a glimpse of the mentor and friend she knew, before they disapparated with a ' _pop'_ , the squeezing sensation somehow more intense than usual. Minerva fell to her knees, her usually impeccable balance failing her. Albus helped her to her feet, and her hand flew to her breast as she saw the gravestone before her, the carved script almost overly ornate.

_ Here lies Tom Riddle. May he rest in peace. _

"What is this place, Albus? Minerva asked, moving forward and peering at the script more closely. "I thought you said that Tom Riddle _was_ the ..."

"This isn't Voldemort's grave, Minerva," Albus interrupted. "This is his father's. And this is where he took Harry last year, where he was reborn."

Minerva whipped around, her eyes wide. "Harry was taken _here,"_ she said. "But _why?"_

The Headmaster looked so old, so _weary_ at her words, that Minerva moved forward and placed a hand on his upper arm.

"Albus," she said softly. "You have to tell me..."

Dumbledore nodded and smiled down at her; it was one of the most bitter-sweet expressions Minerva had seen in her life.

"Then I ask you to stay silent, Minerva," he said eventually, his voice gaining in strength. "Ask no questions until I am finished."

The Head of Gryffindor nodded, her eyes focused once more on the headstone. The sun was setting in the background, and the orange rays of light reflected from the stone, almost fire-like.

"Voldemort used three elements to return to his mortal body," Albus said, standing next to her and looking down at a crack in the ground. "'Bone of the father', 'flesh of the servant', and 'blood of the foe.' Are you familiar with the potion?"

Minerva nodded again, and when she spoke, her voice was flat and emotionless. "The same Grindlewald used to regain strength in 1943 when he was transfigured into a ghoul by one of his own men. An ancient magic, first implemented during battles between the Romans and the Picts."

"Exactly," Albus said approvingly. "His father unknowingly provided his bone, Wormtail gave his hand and a vial of blood was taken from Harry ..."

"For his mother's blood protection," Minerva finished.

"Yes," Albus agreed. "But then something ... odd occurred. He tried to kill Harry at the same time Harry tried to disarm him."

"What happened?" Minerva asked, turning to face the old wizard.

" _Priori Incantatem."_

Minerva's eyebrows shot upwards. "That's only ever been theoretical," she said. "For that to happen, then their wands must share a core from the same source ..."

"A feather from Fawkes," Albus said, interrupting her.

"Oh gods," Minerva said heavily. "It all fits… the scar and now the wand…"

The two stood silently, Minerva's eyes turned back to the gravestone. It all made so much more sense, if that were the correct word. Evil rarely made sense to her mind.

"Minerva?" Albus said from beside her, sounding almost like a child.

"Yes?"

"I don't think of you as a servant."

She laughed harshly. "Not intentionally, Albus."

The older wizard opened his mouth to speak but Minerva shook her head sharply. "Please, don't argue with me on this point, Albus. It's not your fault; you focus on the bigger picture, something I cannot do. Not when I can see the pain. You told me once, during one of your more 'poetic' speeches that you had climbed to the 'top of the mountain.' I can't do that, Albus. You're welcome to stay up there, in the cold, admiring the view; I prefer to stay down, in the warmth."

Albus looked as if he were to protest, but at the last instant nodded grudgingly. "You always had a way with words."

The Head of Gryffindor smiled slightly. "I learnt from an expert."

She touched his arm lightly. "I'm going back to Hogwarts." She paused briefly as she prepared to apparate. "Albus?"

"Yes?"

Minerva locked eyes with her superior. "As I said, you focus on the bigger picture and I can't. To expand on that… if anything, _anything_ happens to Remus Lupin, a part of me will always hate you. Remember that."

She closed her eyes tightly, thinking of the school. When she reappeared outside the gates, she was alone and she knew Albus was not going to come back any time soon. She fancied she knew his moods and idiosyncrasies more than most, if not all. Minerva shook herself back to the present. Night had fallen and the air had cooled by a few degrees. She hunched her shoulders and hurried down the gravel path. She'd left her cloak in her chambers and the cold wind passed easily through the thin material of the shirt she wore beneath her robes.

"Remus, be safe," she whispered as she caught a glimpse of the moon. "For my sake, be safe."

_ -o- _

Three days passed before any word was heard from Remus. Sirius received a letter from the werewolf that he passed on to her, which told of three werewolf attacks at three different locations at the same time. Muggle villages were being targeted, and whilst Remus had yet to discover the exact locations, the Order was already preparing to defend several villages they believed to be the most likely to be attacked.

"Is Lupin all right?" Minerva asked immediately as Sirius opened the door.

She pushed past the animagus and strode into the living room where Severus was sitting stiffly on the sofa with Alastor Moody opposite. The ex-Auror was eyeing the Potions master distastefully; he had never believed Severus had truly changed allegiance. Perhaps if he had known Severus at school, seen the way he worshipped Lily Potter ne Evans… he'd think differently.

"He's as good as one can be," Sirius answered as he himself entered the living room. "I can't imagine he's having that great a time."

Minerva rolled her eyes at his sarcasm as she sat next to Severus. The Head of Slytherin smiled at her, and she saw with relief that he looked less tired then he had been. He was still deathly pale and far too thin, but he no longer looked as if would fall asleep at any second.

"How are you?" Severus asked. His eyes widened and Minerva sat, puzzled, as he pushed her hair back to examine her temple. "What's this?" he asked as he trailed his finger along the thin scar which was the result of her argument with Sirius.

"Oh, nothing," Minerva said, batting his hand away. "I had an altercation with the edge of a cupboard door. Nothing to worry about."

Her eyes flicked to Sirius are who looked both shell-shocked and guilty at the same time. Severus followed her line of vision and she watched as he put some of the pieces together. His eyes narrowed as he glared at Sirius who looked abashed, yet did not pull away from the Potions Master's stare.

"I hope so," Severus said coldly, his eyes still on Sirius. "Or there could be… consequences…"

The two men glared at each other, daring the other to look away. Minerva placed a reassuring hand on Severus' knee, and shook her head gently.

"Severus," she said softly. "There's nothing for you to be concerned about. If there were, I would come to you."

"Right," Moody said, breaking the hostile silence. "There are a few things that need to be attended to."

Minerva straightened and focused her attention on Moody though she remained aware that Severus and Sirius continued to glare at each other at every opportunity.

"Firstly," Moody continued. "I've had word from Dumbledore and he has spoken to the Minister of Magic in Vanhimir and there is good and bad news."

He looked about the room for several moments until Minerva cleared her throat irritably; the message 'get on with it' easy to observe.

"The good news is that the Dark Lord doesn't seem to have rekindled his association with the vampires and werewolves in the area. The bad news is that they've gone to _him_ and have been arriving in England; especially this past week."

Minerva groaned and looked up at the ceiling. Werewolves and vampires were dangerous enough on their own but in an army they were devastating.

"My sentiments exactly," said Moody, nodding in her direction. "So, with that information, which we have passed onto the Ministry here, we have this new problem to worry about."

"Surely the Auror department is in a better position to deal with this?" Severus interjected. "We can't be expected to hunt vampires at night."

"The Ministry is… choosing to ignore the information…" Moody said slowly. "Which leaves…"

The unspoken 'us' hung in the air and there was silence for several prolonged moments.

"When is this beginning?" Minerva asked from where she sat.

Moody glanced at his watch, his expression grim. "The sun set twenty minutes ago. It's already started."

_ -o- _

Minerva's head was throbbing as she entered her chambers and collapsed onto the sofa. The room was stifling hot and she pulled the material of her muggle shirt away from her skin in an effort to keep cool. Still hot, she waved her wand and extinguished the fire that Tilly must have lit some time beforehand. She had returned to the school far later than she expected as Moody went through the various patrols the Order would undertake. To her relief, she was exempt from these new duties as was Severus, Moody deeming that they had more than enough work to do. The room was still hot and Minerva kicked off her boots. They landed some six feet away and the Head of Gryffindor flexed her toes and closed her eyes. She knew that she was stronger than most - both in mental and magical aptitude – but the weight of culpability was heavy on her shoulders; so heavy in fact that she felt she would buckle beneath its weight.

Minerva groaned and rose to her feet; her sock-covered feet made no sound against the polished wood of the floor as she paced up-and-down, her mind reeling with Moody's latest information.

"Hard day?"

Minerva whipped around to find Fred Weasley looking at her from the hallway. The door was open and she supposed that Godric must have opened the portrait hole without her realising.

"You could say that," Minerva conceded, falling once again onto the couch. She looked over her spectacles at Fred who hadn't moved. "What are you doing here, Weasley?" she asked, brow furrowed. "It's late."

Fred lifted one shoulder. "I couldn't sleep and was walking around the castle. I saw you go into your rooms and looked like you might like some company, so…"

Minerva nodded. "I see."

Fred said nothing and remained silent whilst Minerva rose again and headed to the kitchenette.

"Coffee?" she asked, holding up a mug.

Fred raised an eyebrow. "It's eleven o'clock, Professor, is caffeine a good idea?"

Minerva laughed. "Caffeine has ceased to have effect on me, Weasley."

Fred gave her a trademark cheeky grin as he shook his head. "I'm right," he said.

Minerva nodded as she made her coffee. "Fair enough."

He was still leaving against the wall and Minerva motioned for him to sit down. She sat – once again – on the sofa and watched as Fred crossed the room and sat opposite her.

"Why couldn't you sleep, Weasley?" she asked, breaking the silence that had settled between the two.

Fred shrugged. "Dunno," he answered.

Minerva raised her eyebrows and stayed silent as she blew on the coffee.

"Well," Fred said, scratching his temple. "It's just with You-Know-Who and everything … it makes sleeping difficult."

"That it does," the Head of Gryffindor agreed, crossing her legs.

"I just …" Fred continued. "If George or Ginny, even Percy was killed … I dunno what I'd do."

Minerva touched her lip as she looked at Weasley, impressed that one half of Hogwarts' prankster duo understood the full gravitas of current wizarding circumstances.

"Anyway," he said abruptly. "That's why I can't sleep."

"A good reason," Minerva said softly.

Fred opened his mouth to speak when a silver goat burst from the fireplace. Minerva was on her feet immediately as the goat leapt towards her and skidded to a halt on the polished floor.

"It's Remus," the goat said with Pomona's voice. "He's been injured."

"Where is he?" Minerva demanded, barely aware that Fred was standing right behind her.

"At a muggle hospital; London Central," the goat answered. "We have to get there before the Death Eaters do."

"I'll meet you at the gates," Minerva said, already crossing the room.

"Okay."

The goat vanished in a cloud of silver as Minerva wrenched open the door and ran through the corridors. The sound of pounding feet made her glance to the side and she rolled her eyes at Fred.

"Go back to your Common Room, Weasley," she breathed as they all-but-flew through the Great Hall.

"But Lupin…"

"Go!"

Minerva opened the heavy, oak doors and ran out into the night toward the silhouette that stood outside the wrought-iron gates.

"Ready?" Minerva asked as she closed the gates behind her.

Pomona nodded as Minerva gripped the Hufflepuff's hand tightly and closed her eyes (she had always found it easier to apparate with her eyes closed; something Albus had suggested to her,) concentrating hard on their next location. The air seemed to compress about her, and she tightened her grip on Pomona's hand. With a _pop_ they reappeared in a dingy alley and Minerva's eyes darted about, searching for any sign of muggles who might have seen their impromptu entrance.

"Min?" Pomona asked.

"Mm?" Minerva said, now craning her neck to see over a tall dustbin.

"Do you think I could have my hand back?"

Abruptly Minerva released the Hufflepuff's hand, and Pomona massaged her fingers, the knuckles of which had turned white.

"I forgot how much you hated apparition," she said, kneading her palm to encourage circulation. "Why is that? You've never told me ..."

"Not now," Minerva said shortly as she hurried towards the hospital.

Her breath fogged before her and she realised as she walked that she had neglected to put on her coat and the cold air cut through her skin like a knife.

"He's under the name 'Richard Grey'," Pomona puffed from behind her. "What's our cover story going to…"

"My name is Catherine Grey," Minerva said to the triage nurse, cutting off Pomona mid-sentence. "My husband is here."

"Name?" the nurse asked, eyeing the strands of hair that had escaped Minerva's bun.

"Richard Grey," Minerva answered sharply, not liking the nurse's tone.

"I'm afraid I can't let you see him," the nurse said as she typed on her keyboard. "Visiting hours are …"

Minerva held her hand up and leant forward slightly so she and the nurse were a scarce fourteen inches apart. "I wish to see my husband; play nice and let me through."

There were several seconds where neither Minerva nor the nurse flinched but inevitably it was the nurse who broke first. Minerva was always more terrifying when she didn't raise her voice.

"Uh … he's in Room 124," the nurse said, averting her eyes from Minerva's. "Just through …"

Minerva had already bypassed the nurse's station before she'd finished her sentence. Numbers flashed by as she walked through the winding corridors. She finally drew to a halt outside one of the far rooms and her hand flew to her mouth when she opened the door and looked inside. Remus lay on the bed, hooked up to various muggle contraptions. He was covered in cuts and gashes but he managed to smile when she stepped inside. She returned only an inkling of the smile as she crossed the room and pulled down the sheet to examine his chest which had sustained the most injuries. The evidence of his lyncanthropy was obvious; the muscles sculpted with a sort of ... lean brawn that mere weight-lifting could never achieve.

"McGonagall!" Remus protested weakly, trying to pull the sheets back up.

"Stop it," she snapped. "Contrary to popular belief I _have_ seen a man's chest before!"

Suitably abashed Remus stayed silent as Minerva peered at his wounds. She felt ice flood through her veins and pulled back abruptly.

"What is it?" Remus asked tiredly, his eyes closing. "What's wrong?"

"There are traces of hemlock and nightshade in the cuts," she answered shortly. "You need Poppy, _now_."

Minerva flicked her wand and bandages wrapped themselves around his chest.

"We can't just apparate out of a muggle hospital," Remus said as she gripped his hand tightly.

"We're about to," Minerva said succinctly. "Now, this may hurt."

Remus opened his mouth to protest, but Minerva had already closed her eyes, concentrating on the boundary of Hogwarts. They landed heavily and Minerva was forced to dive beneath Remus so that his body did not collide with hard earth. Pomona appeared next to them with a _'pop'_ and rolled her eyes.

"Do you really think _now_ is the time?" she asked, pulling Remus to his feet and looping his arm around her shoulders.

The werewolf was losing strength with every second and Minerva leapt upward and hooked his other arm around her neck.

"How the _hell_ are we going to do this?" Pomona said as Minerva opened the metal gates. "If we're not caught, it'll be a miracle."

"Then let's pray," Minerva said as they hauled Remus who was becoming weaker with every moment as the combined effects of hemlock and nightshade began to take effect down the gravel path.

Pomona nodded and they increased their pace as Remus' head lolled forward against his chest, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. The two women quickened their pace and the doors to the Great Hall burst open as if sensing their arrival which, Minerva reasoned, was probably true. Even the halls of Hogwarts seemed to favour them, and they saw no students, staff or even ghosts.

"We can't take him to the Hospital Wing," Pomona said.

Minerva shook her head. "My chambers. They're near the Hospital Wing and Umbridge won't dare to enter them."

Godric opened the door as he saw them approach and they hauled Remus to the sofa and laid him down as best they could. He was unconscious and Pomona leant over him, taking his pulse and temperature, whilst Minerva poked her head around the corner and cast three patronuses - tabby cats of course; with a definite resemblance to her animagus form - which ran ahead of her as she herself sprinted toward the Hospital Wing.

Poppy was already awake and upon seeing Minerva, dashed toward her, her medical kit in her hand.

"What's the matter?" she asked as they ran through the corridors; Minerva ignoring a stitch that had formed.

"You'll see," Minerva said, entering her chambers.

Poppy's eyes widened and she rushed forward as Minerva leant against the back of an armchair, breathing heavily. Even at a moment like this she couldn't help but admire the mediwitch as she set to work, opening her kit, which magically enlarged to fit everything inside. Poppy poured a number of potions down Remus' throat whilst with her wand she healed the cuts that peppered his skin, finally leaning back and turning to the two Head of Houses.

"He should be fine," she said, and Minerva exhaled in relief, a load lifted off her shoulders. "What on earth happened to him?"

Minerva shrugged, conjuring a glass of water which she drank readily. "I'm not certain. Albus just sent us to get him; the muggles of course didn't recognise the signs of nightshade and hemlock, so we brought him here ..."

"To you," Pomona interjected.

"Nearly killing yourselves in the process," Poppy said dryly, to both of them though she glared at Minerva who jutted her chin forward

"We couldn't leave him," Minerva said obstinately, fully prepared to argue with the hot-tempered medi-witch.

Poppy rolled her eyes, knowing that Minerva could no sooner leave someone injured than fly to the moon.

"Give him these in four hours," she said, handing Minerva three vials of potion.

The Head of Gryffindor nodded and the School Nurse gathered her things and left the chambers, leaving Pomona, Minerva and Remus alone.

"Well," Pomona said after a few moments silence. "You can't say we don't live interesting lives."

Minerva snorted. "That is very true," she agreed. "I'm having a shower to clean myself off."

Pomona nodded but both women's attentions turned to Remus who had started to whimper in his sleep, his forehead creasing as he twisted on the sofa. Minerva rushed forward and placed her hands on her shoulders, any thoughts of bathing vanished.

"Remus!" she said urgently, stilling him as he thrashed about, his arm nearly colliding with her face. "Remus, wake up!"

The werewolf sat bolt upright and she was forced to flinch backward to avoid being hit. Remus looked about wildly, his amber eyes wide and frenzied.

"It's okay," Minerva said softly, placing a hand on his forearm. "You're ..."

"It is _not_ okay!" Remus shouted, startling her so that she jerked backward. "They're _dead and I could do a fucking thing about it_!"

Minerva glanced up at Pomona briefly but the other witch shrugged and she focused her attentions on the man before her.

"Lupin," she said gently. "You are _not_ a coward, you're one of the bravest ..."

"You don't know me, McGonagall," Remus snarled. "You know _nothing._ You hear me? _Nothing._ "

"Of course I won't know anything if you don't _tell_ me," Minerva retorted, her own temper rising.

Remus shook his head adamantly. "I don't want to," he said churlishly, though there was a definite quiver in his voice. "They're dead. I didn't do anything ... they're dead ..."

The sentence faltered, as if falling off the edge of the world, and he looked away. His eyes became glazed with tears and Minerva did the only thing she could think of: she drew him close. He clung to her, his fingers curling in the material of her blouse, sobbing to the point he was hyperventilating, his shoulders rising and falling erratically.

Minerva ran a soothing hand over his back, trying to comfort him. "Shh, Remus," she whispered into his ear, using his first name. "Shh."

It was some time before he calmed and his breathing steadied to the point she knew he'd fallen asleep. Minerva disentangled herself carefully, gently lying him on the sofa. She summoned a tartan blanket which she draped over his sleeping form and rose to her feet. Pomona followed Minerva to her bedroom and sat down next to her as Minerva ran a hand through her hair.

"What the _hell_ happened tonight?" she asked desperately. "I have never seen Lupin lose control like that."

Pomona shrugged, worrying at her bottom lip. "I don't know, Min," she said softly. "Albus didn't give me any details. Just that he'd gone to talk to some of the werewolves in Sherwood ..."

Minerva closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I see," she said slowly. Sighing, she rose to her feet and looked down at Pomona. "I really do need that shower," she said, suddenly feeling tired. "Then I think bed is a marvellous idea."

"I whole-heartedly agree," Pomona said nodding. "I'll let myself out."

Minerva smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said, stepping inside her bathroom and closing the door.

She covered a yawn with her hand as she stripped and turned on the shower tap.

"When would it end?" she muttered.

_ When? _

_ -o- _

** REVISED 6 AUGUST 2011 **

** Dates: October 23 – 27 **


End file.
